Page 50 of Carry Your Debt

Who’s the guy from the warehouse?Hermes had asked me last night. I’d assumed he was just talking about following us out from the diner that day. Dionysus had clocked their GT slinking after his Lambo right as we left the school.

“Did you enjoy the show?” D asks him cryptically, and smug as fuck.

“The hell doesthatmean?” I demand, eyebrows now right at my hairline.

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate, and in the interest of keeping things moving, I decide it’s time to channel my inner game show hostess instead.

“Well, then—Dionysus,thisis Hermes,” I begin with a flourish of my hands in the direction of my recently acquired bed guest. “He’s also a professional chaos pansexual. The two of you will get along quite famously, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I’msure,” D agrees with a throaty chuckle between the sounds of velcro tearing and magazine catches releasing.

“Andthishere is Dionysus,” I say, watching with satisfaction as they run equally hot eyes over one another, “he’ll be your ruin today.”

Those unruly, golden curls flare like a halo as Hermes’s head snaps back in my direction.

“Ifyou’re a good boy,” I add, pointedly.

Dio chokes before covering it with a barked laugh.

“I’ll be the best fucking boy you’ve ever had,” Hermes moans in agreement, hands steepling before his naked chest like a supplicant.

Eager and ready to worship.

And we’re ready to help him find his religion.

“Strip,” I bark and he leaps up to obey like I just shot him in the ass with a TASER.

Dionysus makes a sound of approval, moving to stand with me by the foot of the bed. “These first,” he instructs, hooking a finger into the waist of Hermes’s ass-hugging pants. He snaps the band. “Fuck, look at that ass. They look painted on.”

Again, Hermes doesn’t hesitate, peeling them straight down his long legs with practiced grace. To no one’s surprise, he’s gone commando—leaving him naked but for that goddamn corset, its curved edges following the defined lines of his hips.

He’s painfully hard already; the glistening head points eagerly toward his belly button.

“Naughty,” I tsk loudly, taking a moment to circle him and admire the way the muscles across his back dance beneath my hot attention. Inspection completed, I slide my palms around his trim waist, pressing myself right up against the pert ass I was just admiring. “I thought you said you were a good boy, but you’re already making such a mess,” I scold him.

Hermes sucks in an excited breath at the contact, his abdomen contracting sharply when my hands begin to explore. The right takes a leisurely journey northwards, fingers tiptoeing up the corset’s soft velvet boning before tracing along the length of his sternum. Meanwhile, the left is busy mapping the dusting of hair still partially hidden by his waist trainer—and then across each sharp angle of his pelvis.

Stroking. Caressing.

By the time one palm settles against the strained cords of his throat, the other around the base of his leaking cock, he’s an absolute quivering mess: skin hot, breaths short, pulse hammering beneath my fingertips.

“Beg for it, baby, and we may just make you into that sandwich, after all,” I murmur against his jaw.

And then, with both hands—Isqueeze.

Hermes immediately arches against me.

“Oh,fuck.Yes. Yes,please,” he whimpers, Adam's apple vibrating against my palm with each desperate word. “I’ll clean up every last drop. Frombothof you. Ipromise. So clean, no one will even know I was here.”

“We’ll see about that,” I hum. “Nowthis,” I continue, tugging at the corset. “As much as I love this on you, I need you out of it. Completely.”

Hermes preens at my praise, tracking me closely as I move to face him again. Tanned fingers stroke the length of fasteners, before carefully revealing the taut muscles of his abdomen—one popped fixture at a time.

The trainer drops to the floor.

“Dio, get rid of that penguin suit and find the lube.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he rasps, immediately stripping off the jacket and getting to work on his shirt.

---