Page 45 of Naughty Dreams
He stripped and got into the shower. It had multiple jets and all the amenities, so when he was done, he was pink and clean as a freshly scrubbed school kid.
His ass got special attention since it was preparing for a visitor. A sizeable visitor, one that could take up as much space there as Roy had taken in that tiny bathroom. When he’d been at the afterparty events, DJ kept thinking about Roy’s dick pressed against his ass, stroking the seam of his buttocks, his hand braced next to DJ’s head, other hand at his waist. He’d had to struggle to keep his response under control. But not here. He could stay full mast, his balls tight, nipples aching. Air felt like an actual touch on his skin.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d anticipated sex like this. Maybe the first time he’d ever had it, because this was also virgin territory. The first time he would be with an experienced Dom heknewhe could trust. It made all the difference in the world.
Washing his cock had been difficult. He wished for Roy’s studded strap. Uncomfortable as it had been, it would have made washing his cock less of a near explosive experience.
He managed it, though, because he wanted his Master’s permission. Not just because he wanted to please Roy. DJ was learning what kind of submissive he was. He wanted Roy to have control of his orgasms, of his body. A full takeover. The more he thought about it, the harder and more aching he got.
He finger combed his wild, curly hair, and stared at himself in the mirror. As he’d told Roy, he knew most of the world looked at him and saw something desirable, that they owned or possessed through his music. Was that why his stalker had decided that DJ was his?
If he had, that didn’t make the song wrong, just the broken mind that twisted it to its own ends.
He pushed the thought away. When he went into the bedroom, he snapped off the overhead lights, leaving on the wall sconces flanking the mirror over the credenza. He arranged the pillows in the center of the bed, but before he knelt over them, he checked the fridge to make sure it was stocked with bottled water and soda. The ice bucket was full.
On the living room table was a huge basket of candy, fruit, alcohol and high-end snacks, like expensive cheeses, spreads, crackers, that kind of thing. Roy would have something to eat or drink if he needed it. Because of the concert, he’d worked a double shift today.
It’d be just DJ’s luck that his bodyguard dozed off in his own hotel room.
No. Regular humans slept. Roy Bloodwell didn’t. And he’d promised he’d be here.
When DJ knelt on the bed, his body was humming. He laid down carefully, the pillows in the crevice between thighs and hips, his ass raised, his spread knees pressing into the mattress. He watched himself in the big mirror, putting his arms out to either side, his cheek and chest against the cool sheets. Waves of desire slid over him.
I need you, need you, need you.
You fill up my space.
More lines for the song he was working on. The one that Roy and all this Dom/sub stuff were inspiring.
He’d been smart enough to place paper and pen near his head. He scribbled that down. Maybe he’d add a Gaelic line he’d been holding onto, one he’d heard on a video by handsome YouTuber Stuart Mackey.
Braithim uhaim thú.
Irish Gaelic, with various translations.You are missing from me, orI feel you from my presence. A better way to sayI miss you,particularly when DJ was feeling like this.
But as he pondered it, a thought invaded his mind like a barked command. Carefully, as if his stern taskmaster stood over him with ruler poised, DJ put the pen down and deliberately pushed it and the pad off the edge of the bed. Out of reach.
He lowered his head back to the mattress, his palms flat against it.
He was here to serve, which meant his focus needed to be on that, even before his Master arrived. If Roy got held up, and he had to lie here longer, that was the point, wasn’t it? He was waiting for him, as he’d imagined it. Proving his willingness to do so.
DJ adjusted the sheet over him. Roy had noticed when DJ got cold. Did he understand the power of that, how it affected him?
He drifted some more in his head. His body was so wound up, nearly vibrating. He imagined the hundred different things Roy would do to him. Would require of him.
The reality might be very different. But that wouldn’t necessarily be a disappointment. If it was…well, he’d figure that out. He wouldn’t make things awkward for Roy. DJ had no doubt the man was an excellent, experienced top. He just didn’t know if he could let go of enough control to enjoy that. Now that he thought about that possibility, it made him a little tense.
He'd have to trust Roy to help him navigate that distrust. A weirdly contradictory statement.
DJ slowed his breathing, trying to bring his cock down to a manageable throb. Over time, the adrenaline from the show, the demands of the aftershow, his preparations for this, and even the possibility of a booty call couldn’t stop his body and mind from taking control and giving DJ what he needed most.
He fell asleep.
He woke to the sound of a can top popping. He didn’t have to raise his head to look, since what he wanted to see was squarely in view.
Roy propped his excellent ass on the credenza while he drank a soda and watched DJ. He hadn’t changed out of his suit, but the coat hung on the back of a chair, and he’d rolled up the sleeves of the dress shirt. Just like DJ had fantasized, but he’d taken it even further down that road. He’d removed the tie, pulled the shirt free of the slacks and opened it, every button.
He wasn’t wearing his usual white T-shirt or tank beneath it. DJ’s gaze followed the soft layer of chest hair to the sectioned stomach muscles, disappearing beneath the hold of his belt, the buckle gleaming. His ankles were crossed, and the fit of the slacks made it clear he liked what he saw on the bed.
