Page 45 of Oh, Sacred Dark
“Yeah, no, I have. Just. Therapy,” Roman admitted.
Tyler stumbled over his response. “Oh, right. Of course—how was it? Not that you have to tell me. But it’s going okay?”
“Yeah, actually. It’s…good. Just. Tiring.”
Tyler smiled at him in a way that made Roman feel warm all over, as if the Dom wasproudof him. It made Roman blush and turn away, drying his hands as they finished up with the dishes.
They settled on the couch like always, and that pleasant tingle from Tyler’s affectionate look fizzled away. Tension crawled up his bones, his marrow, stiffening him up.
He just wanted to lie down with Tyler and watch a mindless TV show. He didn’t want to face that brief but terrifying moment when he got on his knees and he wondered if this was it—if this was the time Tyler would get mad at him and punish him.
“You wanna kneel?” Tyler asked.
“Okay,” Roman said, the toll of a bell.
Roman slid to his knees, pressed between Tyler’s thighs—a safe place, normally. Suffocating, now.
Roman closed his eyes as Tyler threaded his fingers through his curls, wanting to duck away.
He stayed put.
Nothing bad was happening. There wasn’t any pain. There was no reason for his heart to be racing like it was.
Tyler wasn’t going to hurt him because he’d never hurt him before—not purposefully.
Tyler stroked the side of his face. Roman shuddered in repulsion. He didn’t—
The kitchen had always been the cleanest part of the house. Not that Roman wasn’t required to keep the rest of it in a perfect state, but the kitchen wouldgleam. It was a beautiful house, too, modern American, a family home.
Roman had spent so much time on all fours in that kitchen. The tiles were always cold, even in summer, the A/C blasting and freezing everything. Roman’s Dom would sit at the kitchen table with his friends and they’d throw scraps of food at him. Roman crawled and ate them off the clean, clean floor.
It hadn’t been so bad. Really, it hadn’t—they’d laughed, called him an obedient bitch, but it hadn’t—
It was the spitting. That was always the worst. Roman would rather be slapped on the face than spit on.
Roman gasped as he was pulled up. Someone was calling his name urgently, the hands on him calloused but gentle.
Roman opened his eyes and saw Tyler’s face, his brown skin ashen, eyes wide with panic. Roman tried to breathe, but his lungs weren’t working, tied in a knot deep in his chest.
“Do you want me to stop touching you? Do you want—”
“No.” The word was ripped out of Roman, a plea.
“It’s okay. It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Roman was pulled onto Tyler’s lap. He couldn’t breathe. He buried his face in the familiar slope of Tyler’s neck.
It was the scent that did it. The combination of the resin Tyler worked with, and his cologne, and his skin. Different from anything that had comeBefore.
Roman’s breath stabilised. He was shuddering, rocked gently in Tyler’s arms.
“Sorry,” Roman choked out. His head hurt. He could feel the Drop approaching like an oncoming train.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m right here.”
Roman closed his eyes and let himself fall.
*****
