Page 19 of Atlas & Miles
“Shit!” My breathing was coming way too fast now, and instead of leaning into logic—because somewhere, deep down, I knew this wasn’t the end of the world—I panicked for a solid five minutes, yelling and screaming pointlessly for him to get the thing off. But of course, that wasn’t helping anything.
“Deep breaths, baby,” the man offered in that low, rumbling voice that had turned me on only minutes ago, rubbing my back. And after I’d calmed a bit—at least enough that I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to hyperventilate—he sweetly asked, “Can I drive you to the emergency room or something?”
If I wasn’t so worked up, I would’ve nearly swooned at his consideration. But it was going to be embarrassing enough for me to go by myself, say nothing alongside a stranger. “No, thanks. You want to finish?”
His cheeks pinked over his beard as he yanked the stretched condom off his dick and tossed it into the trash can across from the bed. “No, unfortunately—this just killed the mood. Which sucks balls, because you’re hot as fuck. And your ass is heaven.”
I gave him a sad smile, patted his arm in a conciliatory move, then got dressed, bidding him goodnight and heading back to Gomillion.
At least my dick had stopped trying to get hard at this point.
Once home, I sighed and dropped to my davenport, wondering what the fuck I was going to do. Long-term chastity wasnotmy thing. Though I knew it wouldn’t do any damage to keep it onuntil morning, I needed the fucking thing off of me as soon as possible.
I was so over this night, and I needed every trace of itgone.
A lightbulb went off, and I smacked myself on the forehead. Of course. In my panic, I’d forgotten the golden rule:When in doubt, google it.
I jumped on the internet and soon came up with a list of options.
Emergency room was high on the list, along with several people who suggested I could just “pull the cage apart”—which honestly hurt my nuts just thinking about it. No, thank you.
Nope, as humiliating as I was sure this would prove to be, I had to seek professional help. Maybe I was bound for the ER after all. Sigh.
Then, like the clouds parted and angels started singing, I found someone suggesting a locksmith. Then another person. Then another. And as I read, I started to get excited—this was sounding more and more like a viable option.
So I pulled up my handy task app, the one I’d booked my internet troubleshoot on, and put out a call for help. I included a vague description of an urgent “locked-out situation of a sensitive nature” and prayed whoever showed up would be willing to work with me once I explained the problem. I also stated in the comments of the request that I’d pay them for their time even if they weren’t comfortable helping me—and no shame if they weren’t—so hopefully that would be enough of an incentive for someone to come out tonight.
As the request posted, I considered my options in such a small town, wondering who would come out this late and the likelihood of that person not sharing this juicy gossip with everyone in town. Pretty much zero, I guessed. Wouldn’t that just be my luck?
But . . . huh. Miles had said he was the only handyman for, well, miles, but surely he wasn’t a locksmith, too, right?
Though maybe it would be better if he was? I wasn’t sure.
Either way, I was desperate. At this point, I’d do whatever it took to get this thing off of me for good.
***
The knock came twenty minutes later, and I flew to the door with my silk kimono flying like a flag behind me despite knowing who was standing outside it and why they were here.
It was already late, so when the app had dinged stating my task was being fulfilled ASAP, I nearly wept. Then I’d noticed that Miles would, in fact, be one answering the request, and my cheeks heated though no one was around to witness my mortification.
I hoped he wouldn’t be offended by the cage or what I was asking him to do. He may have been closeted, but I doubted a gay man would be unaware of such things. And though this was sure to be awkward—I had no doubt of that—at least we had a bit of rapport, right?
Fingers crossed.
I retied the robe closed when I got to my door, trying to catch my breath. When I flung it open, breathing hard from the situationandmy sprint across my house, Miles was standing there with a black canvas bag in one hand and the other shoved into the pocket of his jeans. My cheeks were instantly red again as I stepped aside and invited him in.
I shut the door behind him then turned to face the music. He was eyeing me closely, one eyebrow raised and lips twitching like he was fighting back a laugh. He couldn’t know what happened, right? But maybe he suspected?
Ugh. Fuck my life.
“Th—” My voice cracked because I needed to be even more humiliated, apparently, so I cleared my throat before continuing. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
Miles’s lips did quirk up at that. “Seems you have a bit of a problem.”
I choked on nothing but air. Had he deduced my problem from my cryptic request? “Seems I do.”
I just stood there and stared at him, saying nothing, so after several long moments, Miles was the one to clearhisthroat. “Um, so what’s the”—he pulled up his phone, tapped a few times, then read off the screen—“‘locked-out situation of a sensitive nature’?”
