Page 46 of The Club

I pin him against the open cupboard. “When I brought you back here with your cock under my control?” At the fear that flits through his eyes, a wicked grin spreads across my face. “Are you afraid I’ll cage you again?”

“I don’t want it,” he answers indirectly.

“I’ll only do that when you’re very bad. But I think you liked it, in the end.”

He doesn’t reply, but I know I’m right. I rub my nose against the shell of his ear.

“You did really well last night,” I praise him. “You were such a good boy. But this …” I take the canister from his hand and ease back. “This is bad.”

His hand comes up, reaching for the canister, but I bypass him to return it to the cupboard.

“You need to be more careful,” I tell him.

He’s not listening to me. He’s just relieved that I put it back. I did that because he would only replace it if I didn’t. But he needs to listen to me.

I grip his throat, squeezing lightly until his eyes focus. “I mean it, Rafael. Show me you understand.”

He gives the slightest nod. I want more than that, but it’s enough for now. I’m sure we’ll discuss this again.

“Okay,” I say and pull him away from the cupboard, smacking his luscious ass on the way so that he understands the discussion is over. I grab the granola because there’s really nothing else breakfast-like.

Rafael opens the fridge. “I’ll make eggs. You’ll still be hungry and cranky if you eat nothing but that.”

“Hmph.”

“That can be your first breakfast,” Rafael suggests.

“Now you’re just being a pain in the ass.”

“You, sir, are the pain in the ass.”

“Mm,” I murmur, pulling him toward me with the carton of eggs in hand. “Sir. I like that.”

“That was a joke—and that’s not fucking happening.”

I chuckle and slide my hand inside his pants between his ass cheeks. I massage his hole with my finger. “Are you sore?”

He curves into me. “Don’t you dare make me drop these eggs.”

I take them from him. “Answer the question.”

“Yes, I’m sore.”

“Good. I have work to do today. I don’t want you to forget that this ass belongs to me. Every time you sit down, I want you to feel where I’ve been inside you.”

“Fuck, Dominic.” His hands latch onto my sides.

I squeeze his ass then step away from him. “Your cappuccino’s getting cold.”

“That’s your fault.”

“No, it’s your fault for interfering with my search.” I push him away. “Go sit down. This kitchen inspires no faith in your cooking skills.”

“Look what you did.” He points at his cock lifting against the front of his sweats.

“The cage would solve that.”

He walks off, grumbling, and returns to his seat. “Cold,” he complains when he sips his drink.

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