Page 21 of Atlas & Miles
He waved between us, still trying to contain his laughter. “I’m sorry—this is just . . . how did this even happen?”
His laughter trailed off as I explained my disastrous night. When I told him about the key snapping off, he lifted up and moved closer to examine it once more. The cage jerked under his appraisal, because of course it did.
I sighed, getting tired of my unruly dick as well as getting irritated with just standing here mostly naked. I was starting to get cold. “Can you get it off?”
Miles moved in even closer, his fingertips trailing across the jagged edge of the key as I held my breath at his nearness. Then he nodded. “Yes, I believe so. We have a few options to try, anyway.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Do any of these options include cutting the damn thing off? Because I’d like to keep my dick and balls intact, thank you very much.”
Miles laughed again, but this time, he cut himself off abruptly at my huff and forced a straight face. “Sorry.” His gorgeous eyes flicked to mine. “And there will be no castrating tonight. We’ll have you fully operational in no time.”
He turned back to the coffee table, grabbing a few of his tools as I shifted my weight. “Not to sound ungrateful, but is this going to take much longer? My legs are kind of getting tired.”
Miles whipped around, and I leapt back so he didn’t smack my balls with the giant tweezers in his hand—what the fuck; tweezers? “Oh, sorry! Yes, feel free to sit on the couch.”
“Davenport,” I corrected without thinking but did as he’d suggested, letting the robe fan out underneath me as I pushed the coffee table a couple of feet away to give us more room. He slid a few steps back, still on his knees.
Then he cocked his head at me. The coffee table was now between us, and for some odd reason, I hated that more than I should. “Davenport?”
I patted the cushions on either side of me. “Yes, this is my davenport.”
He moved his tools closer to me on the table, rearranging them just so, then knee-walked around the table to me. Yes, if I was ever this man’s Daddy, he would be on his knees for me often. “How’d it get that name?”
I spread my legs as Miles moved between them, preparing the area with a towel and the items he’d need. As he got to work greasing up the lock then using those industrial-size tweezers to try to extract the key, I told him all about my Gammi and my own personal davenport lore. We were both smiling warmly at the story when the key finally came loose, popping out and dropping in front of my balls, right onto the towel that Miles had had the foresight to lay down.
“You saved my davenport.” I fluttered my eyelashes at him.
He snickered. “And now I’m going to save your dick.”
I returned his laugh, but it died when he got out a hot glue gun—I recognized those from home ec. My balls tightened at the sight. “Um, hot glue?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but I wasn’t sure I’d succeeded. All I could picture was the hot glue dripping onto my balls, and I was not here for that. Cock and ball torture wasnotmy thing. Receiving, anyway.
Miles quirked an eyebrow, probably at my tone, but he didn’t say anything. “The hot glue won’t go anywhere near your skin. We’re going to try to use it to create a functioning key.”
I took a moment to visualize it, then my mouth and eyes dropped open. “That’s brilliant!”
He beamed at me, and I wondered if he’d take to “good boy” just as well. I might have had a praise slut on my hands. “Thanks,” he murmured, quiet and shy, and god, this man was checking all my fucking boxes.
He worked quickly then, placing a plastic disk the size of a CD—fuck, it had been forever since I’d thought of those—on the towel between my legs, laying the broken key on it, and coatingthe severed end with glue. He explained that the glue would manufacture the end of the key or the “bow.”
I just stared, fascinated by his ingenuity. I would’ve never thought of that.
Before too long, he’d finished applying the glue with a flourish and set the glue gun on another plastic disk he’d placed on the coffee table. “Now, we wait.”
I nodded, staring down at the makeshift key. “How long should it take?”
Miles looked at the smart watch on his wrist and tapped it. It was a sturdier model, fashioned to look more like a traditional watch, and fuck if that didn’t make the cage just a bit tighter. Did I have a watch kink now?
“Probably just a few minutes.” He reached for the plastic disk on the davenport and moved it and the key to the table. “But I’ll speed it along.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me then stretched to grab the canister of what I thought was compressed air.
As he pointed it at the glue and squeezed the trigger, I knew I was right. This man really was brilliant. Competence was definitely a turn on.
Before long, he set the bottle of compressed air back down then tapped a fingertip against the glue on the makeshift key. After flipping the key and another round of compressed air, it seemed he’d deemed the key ready to use.
“Okay,” he started, picking up the key and turning to me. “Fingers crossed.”
I crossed my fingers on both hands as he slid the key into the lock and turned it carefully. We both held our breath as the key jiggled in the lock, and then, just as I expected the glue to snap off, the key turned, and the lock popped open.
“Oh, thank fuck!” I scrambled for the cage, quickly opening it and freeing my dick.
