Page 52 of A Mistake of Worth
Henri gasped and spread his feet slightly wider, the position both familiar and strange under Michael’s touch. When Michael slid his fingers deeper, scissoring gently, Henri moaned and pushed back into the sensation.
“More,” he begged, his voice ragged. “Please…”
Michael pulled out without warning, and Henri whimpered at the loss until he felt something firmer press against him. The plug. Cool at first, then warm from Michael’s hands.
The tip breached him with ease, thanks to the lube and his own need, but Henri still tensed, bracing against the pressure.Michael kissed the space between his shoulder blades, hands steady.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, as he slowly eased the toy into place.
It wasn’t as large as some Marc had used, but it wasn’t something Henri could ignore, either. It filled him just enough to be present, to remind him he wasn’t empty. A weight, a pressure, not painful—just there. A reminder.
Then it kicked on, low and steady, and Henri let out a helpless groan, his knees nearly buckling as the vibrations pulsed through him. He fisted the comforter, breath caught in his throat.
“Fuck,” Michael whispered behind him, voice full of awe. “You look so good like this, baby. I’m going to take such good care of you.” Another kiss, warm and possessive, pressed between Henri’s shoulder blades, then Michael pulled away.
“Please,” Henri begged, legs trembling, needing more.
But Michael only chuckled, low and affectionate. “No, baby. You said you had emails to answer this morning. Your VPs are waiting.” He guided Henri upright with gentle hands.
Henri swayed slightly, still adjusting to the plug’s weight and motion. Michael’s hand curled around his cock for a teasing stroke before withdrawing. Henri whimpered, nearly chasing the contact, but Michael was already walking away, retrieving the clothes he’d laid out earlier.
Henri watched him with a dazed, hungry expression. “What are you doing?”
Michael glanced over his shoulder with a wicked smirk. “Don’t you think clothes might be too restrictive today?”
Henri’s arousal surged at the words. And God, how his body responded to that. He nodded, throat dry.
“Yes, sir.” The word slipped out, soft and instinctive.
Henri stilled.
Michael’s brow twitched, just slightly, but he didn’t comment. He returned to Henri, pressed a kiss to his temple, and murmured, “Good boy.”
He’d never called Marc that. Marc had been Marc, or when he was feeling especially cruel—Master. Sir wasn’t part of the script.
And yet it had come out so easily.
He was used to being naked on command. Marc had often kept him that way, stripped for punishment, for display, for convenience.
This felt different. But also, strangely, the same. The act itself was familiar enough to settle that uneasy pressure in his chest. Being bare, being watched, was a state his body understood. And here, with Michael, it wasn’t a violation. It was… comforting.
Henri let himself be guided through the townhouse, bare and flushed and half-hard, every step a reminder of the toy seated deep inside him. Michael settled him into the desk chair, laptop open and waiting. The leather was shockingly cool against his skin, making him shift. The plug made the motion audible, a small wet sound that heated his cheeks, and he had to place his feet a little wider to feel stable.
Then Michael handed him a glass of water and leaned in for a kiss, deep and claiming. “Work,” he said softly against Henri’s lips. “I’ll be right here.”
Michael crossed to the couch and opened his own laptop, positioning himself with casual competence. From where he sat, he had a perfect view of Henri.
He tried to focus—really, he did. There were pending budget proposals, and the internal compliance team had flagged two emails regarding contract audits. But then the vibrations intensified, just slightly, and Henri’s breath hitched. His fingers paused over the keys.
Michael didn’t look up. But the smirk tugging at his mouth said everything.
Henri bit his lip and forced himself to keep typing.
The pattern held: quiet stretches of focus, then sudden spikes of sensation. A slow, deliberate rhythm designed to test his limits. Henri knew exactly what Michael was doing. And maybe that was the point.
By the end of the third hour, he’d managed to respond to a dozen emails, draft a memo for the board, and leave comments on the latest financial projections from the integration team. It wasn’t everything he’d hoped to get done, but it was real work. Good work. His mind was still sharp, even with the plug shifting inside him, vibrating low and steady like a heartbeat he didn’t quite control.
Every time the intensity ramped up, Henri stilled. Every time it eased again, he forced himself to continue. To breathe. To type.
