Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Fuck. He was going to get himself wrapped up in some buried need to fix this man, and ruin himself in the process. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Men could only be fixed when they wanted to fix themselves. Amani wasn’t in the business of repairing broken things.
Yet it wasn’t only Vic who seemed soothed by this moment of quiet communion as they leaned into each other, Vic’s arms settled heavily around Amani’s hips and his brow resting to his stomach, breaths warming his skin through Amani’s caftan while Amani gently massaged the tension from Vic’s body with just his fingertips against the nape of his neck. Amani had never had anyone he could call his submissive before, someone who came to him and only him—and technically, this counted as after care for Vic’s first submissive experience, comforting him and letting him just be in this quiet stillness with someone to ground him while he reoriented the pieces of himself in this new configuration.
Amani just didn’t expect that he would find it comforting, as well.
He’d never had the opportunity to learn. Curious fumblings with boys his own age in high school didn’t really count, when neither of them knew what they were doing and Google could only do so much. He’d only been old enough to be allowed in NYC underground fetish clubs for the past two years, and he’d found it a disappointing experience. If it wasn’t overblown muscle Doms trying to make him “realize” he was truly a sub or people who didn’t understand that he couldn’t just shed the identity associated with his skin tone when he stepped into that world, it was only briefly satisfying negotiated sessions with strangers who just wanted someone pretty to tie them up or step on them or call them trash or just coax their surrender in whatever way got them off. Mutually fulfilling for the moment, mutually unfulfilling in the long term, when the kind of trust that truly made a relationship work between a Dominant and submissive…
That took time. Intimacy.
That was something he’d never had with anyone.
And he didn’t think starting with this ivory tower princeling was the best idea.
He curled his hands against Vic’s shoulders and eased back gently, until Vic got the hint and let his arms drop. For a moment Vic simply knelt there, looking up at him with that handsome face lost in naked supplication, question, as if asking Amani what he’d done wrong, for Amani to pull away. But Amani only shook his head, turning from Vic and smoothing his hand over his disarrayed caftan, taking several steadying breaths.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” he asked, moving back toward the sofa and the cello he hadn’t even touched for this entire session.
Rising in a smooth flexion of his body, Vic lingered by the windows, but Amani could feel those lost blue eyes tracking him, asking wordless things. “I’m confused in ways I’ve never been in my life, but…I don’t mind it. I just…” Vic looked down, idle hands occupying themselves straightening and smoothing his jeans in restless motions. “I don’t know what to do with it.” He broke into a quiet laugh. “I can’t exactly follow Ash’s footsteps and chase party boys until I figure this part of myself out. It’s not really my style.”
“You do seem as though you’d prefer to be a bit more discreet.”
“If you call randomly kissing my cello instructor ‘discreet.’”
Amani glanced up from checking the case—and sighed as he caught Vic still watching him, haunted, almost hungry. Amani never should have given in to that kiss; never should have indulged Vic in even the most idle flirtation, when it would just give him ideas.
“You aren’t very subtle, Vic,” he murmured regretfully.
“What am I being unsubtle about?”
“You want to see me again, and for more than just cello instruction,” Amani said. “You want to see me again…and you’re curious about what I do.” He lifted his chin. “What if I told you I’m not interested in dating?”
Vic’s brows lifted inquisitively. “I’d ask why not, but respect if you didn’t want to answer.”
“It’s too complicated, particularly with my tastes.” Amani almost didn’t want to say what came next—but he had to. He had to lay down that line before Victor started getting any ideas. Before Amani started getting any ideas, when Victor was beautiful standing there in the shadows of night, but he was so much more captivating on his knees. “And even if I were interested in dating…I wouldn’t date you.”
Vic flinched, ducking his head. “Ouch.”
“You have issues, Victor Newcomb.” Amani tried to be gentle but honest, even if he was beginning to feel cruel, driving the nail home. “Issues with control. They make you defensive. You may hide behind glib smiles and idle charm, but it’s simply so anyone and everyone can slide off your blandly pleasant façade without trying to engage too deeply.” He shook his head. “I need more from someone I date.”