Quentin swallowed. He didn't like that line of reasoning at all. What was Augustus trying to say? That Quentin's feeble attempts at domination were never going to work? "So I should just give up?" he asked, his voice sounding a lot sharper than he had intended.
Augustus's eyes widened for a second. “N-n-o,” he said softly, then again, “No. You d-don't unders-s-stand. My subm-m-mission to you isn't a ph-ph-physical thing. It's a m-mental thing. I ch-choose to submit to you, n-not because you're s-s-stronger or smarter or have me t-tied down, but because I w-want to. I want you t-to be in ch-charge. I w-w-want you to d-d-do to me whatever you w-want. Even if I can walk away, even if I c-c-can break free, I don't w-w-want to."
And as Quentin tried to process the truth of the words Augustus had just fired at him, the bear of a man in front of him did the unthinkable. He sank to his knees again, kneeling low until his mouth was pressed against Quentin's bare feet. His breath danced over Quentin's skin, warm and reassuring. Augustus never looked up as he dropped a kiss to Quentin's left foot, then his right.
"I'm always at your m-m-mercy,” he whispered. “S-sir."
21
It didn’t feel demeaning to Augustus. Here he was, on his knees for another man, hell, almost flat on the floor, literally kissing his feet…but he’d never felt more powerful. He’d never felt more free. He’d spoken the truth, and the rest was up to Quentin. He was at Quentin’s mercy, and that was exactly where he wanted to be.
Something wet dripped on his shoulder. A tear. Quentin sniffled, and Augustus listened hard but stayed motionless. He wouldn’t move until Quentin told him to. He owed him that after what he’d promised him.
“Augustus,” Quentin said, and it felt like a caress.
Another tear dripped on his shoulder, trickling down his back.
“Baby,” Quentin whispered, and it sunk deep inside him, the rightness of that word.
He kissed his feet again, those knobbly feet that were so out of proportion with the rest of Quentin’s body, maybe the only part that wasn’t perfect and graceful. It made him even more endearing in Augustus’s eyes.
“Stay,” Quentin commanded, and his voice had changed.
Gone was the insecurity, that edge of pain and disappointment. In its place was the old Quentin, the self-assured, almost cocky Quentin, who had thundered into Augustus’s life and had turned everything upside down. Oh, he would stay at his feet as long as he had to. As long as Quentin wanted.
Quentin shuddered, and he moved, though how, Augustus couldn’t see with his eyes closed and his mouth still pressed against those feet. Then sounds reached his ears. Slick, wet, rhythmic. Quentin jacked off above him, his legs swaying in the same cadence as his hand.
Augustus could picture him in his mind, the blush on his cheeks, the way his eyes darkened and got all intense. He had this focused look where his eyes bore into Augustus and saw every bit of him.
He relaxed as best he could while Quentin continued his unhurried rhythm. His breathing sped up, his breaths turning into soft pants, and he swayed a little more. Augustus held posture, even when it became uncomfortable, even when his muscles tensed, then trembled and burned. His body hurt, but his mind escaped, finding a peaceful place where he didn’t feel a damn thing except the bliss of pleasing Quentin.
Quentin growled, a throaty sound that made Augustus’s dick twitch. He was leaking all over the floor, but he didn’t care. Nothing was more important than this, than staying where he was and making Quentin happy.
“My beautiful Augustus,” Quentin said, his voice a raspy purr, thick with arousal. “My perfect baby.”
Seconds later, splashes of hot cum landed on his back, on his shoulders, and in his hair, but he’d already received his reward. Hearing Quentin call him his perfect baby, that was why he did it. That was why he would endure anything Quentin wanted. Anything his Sir wanted. He didn’t need to understand why those simple words meant so much to him, only that they did.
“Stay,” Quentin said again and stepped back, and Augustus obeyed, not moving except to put his head on the floor. He kept his eyes closed. The rush of being perfect for him was exhilarating. He wanted to hold on to that as long as he could.
“Spread your legs.”
The hardwood floor was cold underneath him, and he shivered while he opened his legs wide. Frigid air danced down his ass, his crack, whispering over his hole. His empty, empty hole, which still felt the afterburn of Quentin’s fingers. What was he…”
Oh.
Something wet drizzled down on him, too warm to be lube. Spit. Quentin was letting a string of spit rain down on Augustus’s crack, and he shivered again. God, was he planning on fucking him after all?
He fought to stay still. His cock was so hard, and the floor was right there, and all he needed to do to get friction was move a little. Just a tiny shift of his hips. But no, he wouldn’t. Moving meant disobeying, and that was not an option.
A whimper rose, and it was him, the sound escaping from him instead of sheer begging.
Please, please, please. I need…
Quentin. He needed Quentin.
And then Quentin’s body dropped on top of him, and his legs were roughly shoved even wider, and he went with it. His ass was held open, and Quentin pushed inside him, not going slow this time but surging in, ruthless and so big.
Augustus made a sound, a pitiful wail of pain and pleasure, of ecstasy and protest, of being too full and so empty simultaneously. He wanted Quentin to stop and to move, to fuck him hard, to do anything to make this feeling of being too big for his skin, too cold and too hot at the same time stop. He needed…
Quentin put his full weight on him, snapped his hips back, and drove deep inside him. Augustus howled. God, yes. Quentin held still for a moment, then another one, and Augustus smacked his flat hand on the floor once. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Don’t make me say it. He didn’t even have time to brace himself before Quentin pulled back and slammed back in.
He didn’t hold back this time. No tender lovemaking, no going slow. No sweet words and careful thrusts. This was a man on the edge, going all out with vicious, rough strokes that set Augustus’s body on fire. He spread his legs wider, distributed his weight evenly to brace himself against the onslaught, and he took it.
He soaked in every harsh grunt Quentin made, every wet slap of flesh hitting flesh. He drank in his smell, the way his pants made his skin prickle, the bruising grip on his arms. Quentin held him down. Augustus could’ve easily bucked him off. One move and Quentin would be the one on his stomach. Or on his back. But Augustus submitted. He surrendered, even as tears of joy trickled down his cheeks.
God, it hurt, but in the best way. His muscles screamed with fatigue, his ass stung, and his knees fucking ached from being smashed hard against the floor. But his body sang, his balls full and tightening, his cock so hard it could obliterate nails. Every circuit in his body was firing, nerve endings he’d never even been aware of sending signals of pleasure and pain, pain and pleasure, until the two became one, and he exploded.
Lightning flashed behind his closed eyes, and his ears buzzed as his balls unloaded. His body trembled and shook, and he came without ever touching his cock, his eyes tearing up with the force of his orgasm. His cock spurted, then again, and he bucked and arched reflexively. Quentin pinned him down even harder and slammed in one more time, roaring as he came hard, flooding Augustus’s ass with his cum.