A soft moan brushed along his spine, Channing’s need made into sound. Bowie bound the other knee in place, the bar keeping him spread wide now, the muscles beginning to quiver already. The stretch made Channing’s ass push back, his spine arching.

  His mouth started to water, his worldview shifting at the beauty that was his kit. Bowie allowed himself to touch as much as he wanted, sliding his fingers around the nipple chain and tugging gently, patting Channing’s ass when he moved.

  Channing offered him delicious little sounds, noises that were mostly feline, totally his. Every little whimper went right to Bowie’s cock, and he moved into Channing’s view just so he could rub it through his pants.

  “That’s mine, Bowie.”

  “Oh?” He raised a brow, very deliberately slipping his fingers under his waistband.

  “Yes. Mine. No one else’s, ever.”

  “Andy can’t have it?” Listen to that possessive boy. Bowie wanted to fuck him until he screamed.

  “Oh…” Channing arched, clearly almost shooting from the thought of him, from the promise of his name. “Andy.”

  “Mmm. We will go to him, kit. I swear. He’s all grown up now, isn’t he? Slinky and filled with promise.” He pulled his button loose.

  “Hard and delicious. Bowie, I need.”

  “I want you too, love. I want you wild for me, want to hear you lose that perfect exhibition demeanor and scream for me.” He slid onto the bed, kneeling before Channing, holding those lean hips when Channing overbalanced. He rubbed his covered cock against Channing’s bound one, giving Channing just enough to make him crazy.

  Channing groaned, hands reaching for him, wrapping around his upper arms. “Kiss me, kit.” He didn’t want to take a kiss. He wanted to see what Channing would give him.

  Those beautiful eyes caught his and then his lips were taken, the kiss slow and lazy, burning him down to the ground. Oh, his Channing was good, knew what to do to make Bowie happy. Those long, burn-and-blade-scarred fingers cupped his face, stroking his skin as if he was delicate.

  He squeezed Channing’s ass, the heat still unbelievable. That jostled Channing, made the kiss stutter. Bowie smiled when he withdrew, staring into Channing’s eyes. “Such a good boy.”

  “I try. You don’t make it easy.”

  “Am I a bad Master?” He knew he wasn’t, but then, it wasn’t his job to make it easy. He had to ask, though.

  “Don’t fish. You… Tonight at the club you were spectacular, and right now I need you more than my next breath.”

  Yes. He rewarded Channing with a kiss given this time, fucking that perfect mouth with his tongue. Beautiful man. He was so lucky, to have this hunger here and Andy waiting. They would turn their Channing inside out. Andy would fight them at first, but he would come around. Bowie knew it.

  He took the tip of Channing’s cock between thumb and forefinger, squeezing lightly. Oh, now. That made Channing’s eyes cross. Bowie pulled his hand back and smacked the tip, letting it sting. The heavy flesh bobbed, jerked, and Channing actually growled, rumbled at him.

  “Uh-uh. No growling, kit.”

  “Sorry. Sorry, that st… surprised me.”

  “I like how it made you jump. Did it hurt? Tell me the truth.”

  “It stung. My cock and my pride.”

  “Your cock wants attention so badly. So does this tight little hole.” He reached around and tapped Channing’s crease.

  “Yes.” He loved how Channing rippled, nodded emphatically.

  “I love how you smell, how I can feel every quiver of your muscles like this.” He pressed their chests together, feeling the nipple clamps scrape his skin.

  Channing’s hips rolled, rubbing against him. He allowed it, knowing Channing needed the stimulation to offset the difficult position in which he held his body.

  He leaned down, nuzzled the curve of Channing’s shoulder, licking at the salty sweat there. He moaned at the flavor, the uniqueness of his boy. He let his teeth threaten, press into Channing’s skin. The blood lay right under Channing’s flesh, the pulse pounding in Channing’s throat.

  Channing, his beautiful omega, let his head fall back. Bowie bit hard at the exposed flesh, marking the skin. Channing’s fingers grabbed him, as they both arched impossibly. The connection flared between them for a long moment, as if he could see Channing’s thoughts, not just hear them.

  Mate.

  The word was low, echoing inside him, inside both of them.

  Mine, he agreed. Thank God Channing wasn’t fighting it anymore. “I’m going to fuck you now, baby.”

  “Please. Yes, mate. Please.”

  “Stay still, love.” He moved around Channing’s body, his hands bracketing Channing’s hips.

  “Mate. Mate, I don’t know if I can balance when you take me.”

  “I’ll help you. You’re so perfect like this. I want you just this way.” Then he would plug Channing and keep him tied to the bed.

  Channing nodded, trusting him fully. He pushed two fingers into Channing’s ass, finding it slick, open. Yes, Channing had prepared everything before he got there.

  Such a good boy.

  Bowie rewarded him with another finger, curling it to find Channing’s gland. The tiny nub inside Channing’s body bumped his fingers, and he had to curl his other arm around Channing’s waist to keep him upright. That was delicious. Utterly delicious, the way muscles bunched and jumped in Channing’s thighs, the way Channing’s ass clamped down on his hand.

  “Someday soon I’ll put my whole hand in you, love.”

  “Bowie!” The squeeze around his fingers was fierce.

  “I will. Hold you in my hand, feel your heartbeat. Today I’m going to have you with my cock, though.” He yanked his fingers free and slammed his cock home in one smooth thrust.

  Channing’s yowl split the air, feral and purely feline. The tension in that fine body made every touch more special, giving Bowie more pleasure. He thrust up, his hips hitting that abraded ass. The heat made him grit his teeth, grab hold of his own pleasure, keeping it in check. Bowie tested the buckle on Channing’s cock-and-ball harness, making sure he could tug it off easily.

  “Love the feel of you. Thought I’d never get to feel you. Ever.”

  “I know. I thought you were gone for good.” He slapped his hips against Channing’s ass with every word. “Not letting you go again.”

  “Swear it?”

  He leaned down, teeth sinking into Channing’s shoulder. He shook that piece of skin, slamming deep with his cock, riding out their need.

  The sounds that filled the air sang in his ears, in his soul. This was Channing at his best. Not the silent, perfect sub at the club, but the strong, giving kit who swayed with every thrust, who held himself up by force of will and sang their mating song.

  It was worth it, all of the time lost, just to have this, now. He rocked, tight motions of his hips, his breath beginning to come short.

  “Love.” The single word was in his head, in his brain, running up his spine.

  “My kit. Mine.” He jerked the cock ring loose, letting Channing free. “Now, Channing,” he demanded.

  “Mate.” Channing’s body gripped him, entire body clenching tight.

  “I said now.” He slapped Channing’s cock with the flat of his hand, wanting the wet heat of Channing’s release. Spunk spurted in an arc, Channing’s entire body bowing with it.

  “Uhn.” Bowie let go, no longer needing to hold on. He spent himself into Channing, marking his kit on the inside. He had to hold himself up, stabilizing Channing. He had no intention of losing it and toppling them over. Bowie stayed upright, panting, working through the aftershocks.

  “Christ. You… I’m totally keeping you, Bowie.”

  Bowie laughed and then rested his forehead on Channing’s neck. “Good, baby. I have no intention of letting you get away.”

  “That’s fair.” Channing’s breath began to slow. “Totally fair.”

  “I have one more thing to ask of you before we rest, baby. Hold yourself up for two more minutes.” He wanted to use all three toys, so it was time for the plug before he undid the spreader bar.

  “Anything.”

  He would reward Channing all night for his service. He stroked one ass cheek when he pulled free of Channing’s body.

  His good boy clenched, keeping his essence inside. Bowie didn’t wait. He grabbed the plug where he’d dropped it on the bed and slicked it quickly with the lube Channing had left on the table. Then he pushed it inside Channing’s stretched hole.

  Channing sucked in a breath, shivered. “Bowie, I can’t hold this pose much longer.”

  “You don’t have to.” Bowie wrapped his left arm around Channing’s torso, using his right to untie the spreader bar. He eased Channing down on his side, stroking his ribs. “The clamps now, love.”

  Channing gritted his teeth, nodding only once.

  Yes. The clamps coming off those swollen nipples would be excruciating. Bowie did the deed quickly, massaging them while blood flowed back into Channing’s flesh. He murmured his praise, letting his boy know how proud he felt.

  “Fuck, that burns.”

  “Stay there, love.” Bowie went to the bathroom and retrieved a wet washcloth. He’d clean them both up, make Channing more comfortable.

  Channing watched him, a soft, almost dreamy look on his face. His lover had found that omega place, the peace that came from being dominated, from serving. He was a natural. Bowie slid the cloth over Channing’s nipples and belly, his cock and ass.

  Mate.

  The word filled him again and he nodded, let himself purr. He stroked Channing’s back, tapping the plug, just to remind his boy it was there.

  Channing’s hips rolled the barest bit, and his lover cuddled into him. Bowie lay next to Channing and pulled blankets over them, soothing them both. The kind of intensity they’d achieved all night took its toll. Later he’d feed his boy, something decadent and lovely, but for now, they would rest.

  Together.

  Tomorrow they’d start planning a trip to get their Andy. Channing was his, there was no doubt of that now, no fighting it.

  Somehow, Bowie had a feeling Andy would prove a harder nut to crack.

  BA Tortuga

  Texan to the bone and an unrepentant Daddy’s Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset hounds and her beloved wife, texting her sisters, and eating Mexican food. When she’s not doing that, she’s writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA’s personal saviors include her wife, Julia Talbot, her best friend, Sean Michael, and coffee. Lots of coffee. Really good coffee.

  Having written everything from fist-fighting rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her damnedest to tell the stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast Texas, but has heard the call of the high desert and lives in the Sandias. With books ranging from hard-hitting GLBT romance, to fiery ménages, to the most traditional of love stories, BA refuses to be pigeonholed by anyone but the voices in her head.

  You can find more about BA on her website at http://www.batortuga.com/, blog, http://batortuga.blogspot.com/, and facebook www.facebook.com/batortuga. Follow her on Twitter @batortuga.

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  BA’s Changeling page: http://changelingpress.com/author.php?uid=182.

 

 

  BA Tortuga, Deconstructing Channing

 

 

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