Governor Read online

  I do as I’m told. There’s part of me that knows this is just a temporary bubble of perfection, but I don’t want to escape it. I want it to continue.

  Not the hangover—the rest of it.

  This.

  Whatever this is.

  “I hope you had fun last night,” he adds.

  “I had a lot of fun last night. That meal was amazing. I’d like to go back to the tap house. I think maybe one of those flights would have been okay. Possibly two.”

  “Yeah, the two full pours, on top of three flights, and two rum and Cokes, really knocked you for a loop.” Carter smiles. “Hey, good news is, now you have a baseline.”

  “Yeah. Oh, wait. We have more of those two I really liked, don’t we?”

  “Yep. Maybe later we can moderately indulge,” he says. “Have some with dinner.”

  “Agreed. With the moderation, I mean.”

  He doesn’t look up when he speaks again. “Or, we can finish them both off tonight, before Susa gets back tomorrow, and see what happens.”

  The air has taken on a sudden density it didn’t possess before. I don’t know what the right answer is.

  I don’t know what he wants to hear.

  I know what I want to say, and it terrifies me at a visceral level I didn’t even know existed within me before now.

  Because I want to say yes.

  I want to not just say yes, but fuck yes.

  He glances at me, his brown gaze full of intense mystery.

  “We could,” I say. “What do you want to do?”

  When Carter meets my gaze, I force myself not to look down, not look away.

  “Honestly?” Not trusting my voice, I nod. “I want us both to stay sober while I show you what I think you need today. That way, you can tell me if I’m right or not. We can get drunk together later.” He focuses on cooking again.

  Together…

  Carter is a study in contradictions. You’d think a guy with his history, his experiences, would be hard in mind and personality. Kick-ass, taking shit from no one. The Carter I’ve come to know is multi-faceted and full of mysteries whose depths I now realize I have yet to plumb. There is so much I don’t know about him.

  He has a gentle, tender side that I suspect only Susa and I get to see.

  “Okay.”

  He doesn’t look up from the stove. “Okay, what?” It’s not snippy in tone, more matter of fact, and I realize what he’s looking for.

  “Okay, Sir,” I say.

  He smiles. “My very good boy.”

  That feeling deep inside my gut tightens again, in a good way.

  In a way that I want to continue feeling.

  * * * *

  Breakfast is, of course, delicious. Because, of course, it’s fricking Carter cooking it.

  The other guys in the quad pod were disappointed when we told them we weren’t going to be there Sunday morning, but we told them they were welcomed to continue the Sunday Mornings With Carter tradition in our absence.

  Seriously, if they can’t cook French toast and scrambled eggs on their own by now, they’re hopeless and deserve to starve.

  I want Carter to myself tomorrow morning.

  Especially now.

  I am feeling reasonably better by the time we finish eating. Enough so that I offer to take care of the cleanup. Washing dishes actually makes me feel better because I don’t mind doing it. I’ve enjoyed some of the best conversations of my life during our times together while cooking and then following dinner, listening to Susa and Carter talking about politics or anything else while I stand at the sink.

  Carter lounges against the counter and sips another cup of coffee as I wash dishes. “Let’s discuss some boundaries,” he says.

  “Boundaries?”

  “Limits.” He turns to me. “Hard limits, soft limits. For both of us.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like what we do can’t interfere with school. We both have to keep our grades up.”

  I nod. “Okay. That’s easy.”

  “No pictures. I mean, nothing compromising. That also goes both ways.”

  “Agreed.” But I don’t understand how I could take a compromising picture of him if I’m the one who’s…whatever it is that I am.

  “We’ll have different modes. Vanilla mode versus the rest of the time. Your default mode will be boy to my Sir.”

  I need a moment to digest that and Carter doesn’t rush me. “How do I know the difference?”

  “If one of us needs to flip into vanilla mode, we use the other’s name.”

  “I feel like I’m missing something. That sounds too easy.”

  “It doesn’t have to be difficult.”

  We spend so much time around Susa, I suspect that vanilla mode will end up being our default soon enough.

  “Okay.”

  “Yes, Sir,” he corrects.

  Two emotions simultaneously vie for superiority—need and rebellion.

  Need wins out.

  Easily. “Yes, Sir,” I repeat.

  “Good boy.” He reaches over and doesn’t just ruffle my hair. It’s like he’s massaging my scalp, and it feels so good that my hands still and my eyes drop closed, my head bowing as he does it.

  “See?” he softly asks. “This isn’t all about pain and beatings. Not unless you want it to be.”

  I might literally kill anyone who tried to interrupt us right now. Contentment flows through me as I breathe, basking in…this.

  Whatever this is.

  His hand slowly slides down the back of my head and closes around the nape of my neck, resting there. “Finish the dishes, boy,” he quietly says. “Then come meet me in the living room.” It’s not his usual tone of voice. It bears the edge and firmness of that night when leaving Mom’s, but it’s also tender.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I can’t suppress my disappointed moan when he releases my neck and leaves the kitchen.

  I have to shake myself out of the spell and hurry to finish, to get the dishwasher going and to wash and dry the items that don’t go in it. It takes me less than ten minutes, and I scurry out after Carter.

  He’s still wearing his boxers and nothing else, and watching TV from where he’s lounging on the end of the couch. When I emerge from the kitchen, he points at the floor in front of him, and despite knowing I’ll be blocking his view of the TV, that’s where I stand, right next to the end of the coffee table.

  He looks up at me. “Beyond what we’ve talked about, here are my rules to start with.” He ticks them off on his fingers as he lists them. “Full honesty, even if you feel embarrassed. You follow my orders when I give them, or you flip into vanilla mode and explain why you can’t, as the situation warrants. You will not date anyone. From this moment on, I handle your mother. Thoughts?”

  “I’m not dating anyone, so that’s easy. But how are you supposed to handle my mother?”

  “It means you bring everything to me.”

  “I’m supposed to text her every day.”

  “Is that her rule, or something you started doing because she expected it?”

  I think about it. “The second.” He arches an eyebrow at me and I realize what I’ve done. “The second, Sir.”

  I’m rewarded with a playful smirk. “Good boy. Does she reply every day?”

  He knows this, but I answer anyway. “No, Sir. She usually doesn’t.”

  “What happens if you don’t text her every day?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Sir. I know she’ll make life hell for me.”

  “How?”

  “She would probably withhold my allowance.”

  He slowly nods. “So that’s the only hold she has on you?”

  “It’s a pretty damn big one, Sir. I’d have to get a job.”

  “What if it wasn’t an issue?”

  I’m not sure what he means. “I don’t understand.”

  “What if there was a way to eliminate that concern from the equation?”

  I laugh. “Li
ke, you mean hitting the lottery?”

  He remains strangely serious. “Don’t worry about the specifics. If money wasn’t an issue, and that worry was removed, would you still text her every day?”

  My smile fades. “Carter, I’m not going to ask you or Susa to support me. I feel bad enough you two won’t let me chip in for groceries more often.” I’ve resorted to leaving twenties stashed in Carter’s belongings, or somewhere in Susa’s house, as I can afford it. Then when I’m asked if it’s my money, I just shrug and neither confirm nor deny.

  Who says I won’t make a great attorney?

  “That wasn’t my point, boy. Answer my question without over-thinking it.”

  Part of me rebels at engaging in useless what-if rhetoric. Because I am beholden to my mother, to keeping her favor until I graduate from law school and start working, so that I’m not utterly fucked.

  “Yes, Sir, if it wasn’t for the money issue, I wouldn’t worry about texting her every day.” I add a caveat. “I mean, and if I can bum a place to stay during breaks if I need to, off you or Susa, when I can’t stay in a dorm.”

  He leans forward and sets his mug on the coffee table. “Unless you decide to end this arrangement between us, you are always guaranteed a place to stay.” He meets my gaze. “Even then, if you end this, as long as we’re still friends you don’t ever have to worry about being homeless, I promise.”

  I blink back the sudden prickle of tears in my eyes over that statement. I know he means it. Carter never engages in idle bravado. “Thank you, Sir.”

  “You don’t have to thank me for being your friend, boy. I hope we get to be much more than that, and for the rest of our lives.” He doesn’t clarify that remark and continues. “You need to understand that part of what I’m going to do is break you down in the ways you need to be broken.”

  I try not to react, but a frisson of fear sweeps through me.

  He tilts his head as he studies me. “What’s wrong?”

  It’s spooky how he can read me. “That doesn’t sound…good, Sir.”

  “It’s designed to instill your trust in me.”

  “My mother has broken me all my life, and I damn sure don’t trust her.”

  “Maybe ‘break’ isn’t the right word to use,” Carter says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. This won’t be an easy process, though. I’m not approaching this as a game. I can promise that, on the other side, you’ll understand better what I’m trying to say, and you’ll thank me for it.”

  “Because you’ve done this?”

  He sighs. “That, and because I know what not to do.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  So here I stand this Saturday morning, my hangover mostly not bothering me now that I’ve had ibuprofen, water, and breakfast, with my best friend and roommate looking up at me from where he’s sitting on our other friend’s couch.

  Then Carter quietly says one word that makes a record screech painfully echo through my fuzzy, aching brain.

  “Strip.”

  I blink, thinking I misheard him, or that he’s going to smile and laugh and say something like, You should have seen the look on your face!

  But none of that happens. He sits, motionless, waiting.

  “Sir?”

  I can’t read his expression. “Was I not clear?”

  “I…” I swallow hard. “What does that have to do with what we’re doing?”

  “Because most of what we’re doing, when we have appropriate privacy, will be done with you naked. So you’d better get used to it now. Don’t make me repeat myself, boy.”

  I’m…torn. I mean, sure, in high school I dressed out for PE and we had showers, or in our room at the dorm, but this is…

  Deliberately baring myself to someone. Hell, I barely let the three girls I slept with see me naked.

  Carter sits back, his fingers laced behind his head, waiting.

  I don’t even know what to say.

  I do not want to say fuck this shit and turn and walk away. Hell, last night I jerked off while lying in bed next to him. The fact that I was drunk is besides the point—I trust him. Not like he hasn’t seen me naked already.

  With my cheeks flaming hot, I push my shorts down and step out of them. When I straighten, my instinct is to stand there with my hands covering myself.

  Carter doesn’t move. “Hands at your sides, boy.” His tone remains calm, softly firm.

  I didn’t think it was possible to blush this hard and not pass out from a stroke or something. Somehow, I make myself obey and stand there in front of him.

  His gaze is focused on mine. “You aren’t the first guy I’ve seen naked, Owen.” His tone still sounds gentle, friendly. “You’re going to be amazed how quickly you’ll get used to being naked, and how weird it’ll feel when you aren’t.”

  “You said my name. Does that mean we’re…done?”

  He smiles. “No. It means if you want to ask me why I’m stripping you, go ahead.”

  I take a deep breath. “Why, Sir?”

  “The goal is for you to learn to focus only on what I tell you to, regardless of distractions. To focus on me. Whether you’re kneeling in front of me when we’re alone, like we are now, or we’re in the middle of a crowded store and I need your attention. I want you able to tune out everything except what I tell you to focus on, which usually means me. It also means forcing you to get rid of feeling self-conscious, and this is the easiest way to do that. That also means conditioning you in a variety of ways. Besides, I can’t spank you if you’ve got clothes on. I mean, I can, but it’s a lot more fun without them in the way. Questions?”

  Yeah, a fuck-ton of them, but I shake my head and hope many of them will be answered along the way.

  “Another rule is that I now control your orgasms.”

  “What?”

  He hasn’t moved, still sitting there with his hands laced behind his head, but he arches that eyebrow at me again.

  “What, Sir?” I repeat.

  “It’s about control. This isn’t some fraternity pledge-week game. This is long-term, and I’ll teach you self-discipline, self-confidence, and show you that you can do anything you put your mind to. You’ll learn to push yourself harder than you ever have before, and take pride in your accomplishments. I’ll reward you, I’ll punish you, sometimes both at the same time. What do you have to lose? But riddle me this—think about all that you stand to gain, hmm?”

  Okay, so most of my fantasies feature Susa taking control of me like this.

  I nod, unable to say it.

  “Are you agreeing to that term, to me controlling your orgasms?”

  I nod.

  Carter forces the issue. “Say it, boy.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “No. Say, ‘I want you to have control of my orgasms, Sir.’”

  “You’re a bastard.” That pops out before I can stop it.

  Except Carter laughs. “Not the worst I’ve been called, boy. Not the worst you’ll call me, either. And not the first time I’ve been called that. I’m absolutely a bastard, and I’ll proudly admit it.” His expression hardens. “Now, say it, or say my name and put an end to this. Your choice.”

  Part of me wants to say his name and end this madness right now.

  A bigger part of me is dragging the rest of me over the edge of the precipice, toward him, wanting this.

  Wanting all of it, because for the first time in my life it’s something I want, and it’s within my grasp.

  Not just wanting it—needing it.

  “I want you to have control of my orgasms, Sir.” I whisper the words, because that’s all the volume I can manage.

  Carter’s face transforms into a beaming smile that makes my pulse surge. “Such a good boy for me,” he softly says as he rises from the couch to stand in front of me.

  Internal programming is thrown into complete chaos as my soul, body, and brain all struggle for control.

  Then he reaches out and grabs my cock, squeezing it. It startles me a
nd I flinch, but his other hand cups the back of my neck and traps me there even as my cock hardens in his hand. He pulls my head forward, so our foreheads are touching.

  “Good boys get rewards,” he says as he quickly strokes me. “You may come.”

  I…I don’t even know what’s going on. My body is merrily following along, my cock aching in that glorious way that tells me I’ll be coming really fast. That it’s someone else’s hand on my cock besides mine is a strange sensation, but Carter obviously knows his way around a cock. I’m not exactly lubed, but I’m leaking pre-cum and he smears that around with his hand.

  When my cock explodes only moments later, I reflexively reach out and grab him for balance, holding on and trying not to fall over from the intensity of my climax. The sudden lubrication allows his hand to quickly slick back and forth, using more pressure, almost too intense to bear now. I think he’s going to stop, but he continues, and the hand around the back of my neck tightens to keep me in place.

  I’m helpless, gasping, and incredibly feel myself getting hard again.

  That’s when his grip on my cock eases as he continues to slowly stroke me. His hands are slightly rougher than mine, hints of old calluses haunting his, where mine are smooth and soft. It’s a deliciously different sensation.

  “Good boy,” he whispers.

  I’ve never gotten hard again so quickly before. I also realize my hips are rocking back and forth in time to his motions, my body actively participating in whatever this is even though my brain is still stuck in what the fuck? mode.

  I can’t exactly say I want him to stop, because I don’t. When my eyes drop closed, one finger painfully digs into the back of my neck.

  “Eyes open,” he firmly orders without raising his voice. “Eyes on me.” When I immediately comply and find myself staring into his brown gaze, he smiles again. “Good boy,” he coos.

  My grip tightens on his body and I whimper, helpless, as his hand skillfully pulls me close to the edge…

  And keeps me there, reading my body and not getting me over.

  I’m sooo fucking close, too, and even when I try fucking his hand harder, he compensates, leaving me frustratingly horny.