My Old Man Read online

  A hint of fear now furrowed Jonah’s brow. “Who’d you tell them I am to you?” he quietly asked.

  “The truth.”

  An eyebrow arched.

  “I meant,” Gordon clarified, “the age-appropriate, vanilla-friendly truth. That you’re my boyfriend.”

  More doubt clouded his gaze. “You’re allowed to do that?”

  Gordon held up his hands and waggled his fingers at Jonah, who laced fingers with him. “We have gay teachers at Sorrellson. It’s not a secret. There’s a very strict code of conduct for staff, students, and parents. There’s also a huge-ass waiting list to be admitted. No one dares to mouth off, because if they do, they can be fired, or the student expelled, and their place will be filled before end-of-day.”

  Jonah seemed to need a moment. His gaze dropped to their hands, seeming to especially focus on the shiny gold band on his left ring finger.

  “On one condition, Master,” Jonah finally said, lifting his gaze to meet Gordon’s.

  Jonah rarely negotiated. Rarely. Usually, he obeyed without question when Gordon asked him to do something, unless there was a physical or practical reason why he couldn’t do it. In those cases he always explained the why to Gordon so he could rethink the order.

  Negotiate?

  Very rarely.

  And when he did, Gordon knew it was because whatever it was he was negotiating for was very dear to him. “Let’s hear it first, boy. You know the rule.”

  “I want to go out shopping this afternoon,” he softly said. “I want to buy a ring for you, too.”

  Gordon’s eyes dropped closed and he breathed through the threatening tears. Dammit, he was an emotional mess this morning. He finally sniffled them back and opened his eyes to find Jonah waiting, his gaze fixed on Gordon.

  “Is that all?”

  Jonah shook his head.

  “What’s your other condition? Or is there more than one more?”

  Jonah brought their hands to his lips and kissed Gordon’s fingers. “I want you to wear it from now on, and tell them I’m your husband. Well, that we’re getting married Saturday.”

  Gordon didn’t even bother trying to blink those tears away. “Deal.” He leaned forward for a kiss, slanting his lips over Jonah’s, his tongue teasing along them, awaiting his submission.

  After a breath, they parted for him, Jonah’s tongue meeting his, playfully, sweetly. “My husband,” Gordon whispered against Jonah’s lips. “My sweet, handsome husband.” He gently nibbled Jonah’s lower lip, sucking on it.

  A soft, needy whimper escaped Jonah when Gordon’s hands slowly squeezed tighter on Jonah’s and he drew back just a hair with his kiss, making Jonah chase him.

  Between them, both their cocks were hard now, and Gord knew he couldn’t deny his boy much longer.

  He had been so good for him, taking the spanking without complaint.

  The fact that Jonah had wanted and enjoyed the spanking wasn’t important, and totally beside the point.

  Releasing Jonah’s hands, Gordon grabbed his hips and urged him to sit up so he could shift a little down the bed, enough he could bend his knees so Jonah could lean back against him like that. Then he reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the lube, drizzling a little just over Jonah’s cock.

  He put it aside and smiled up at him, lacing his hands behind his head as he settled in for the show. “Make yourself come, baby, then you can stroke one out of me. Use your left hand.”

  Immediately, he spotted his boy’s tells that subspace had slammed back into him. The way his eyes softened at the outer edges, his brows lifting a little, lips parted. Jonah reached down, a smile curving those gorgeous, kiss-swollen lips of his as he obviously realized why Gordon had ordered him to do it southpaw this morning.

  The wedding band.

  Gordon watched, entranced as Jonah slowly slicked the lube up and down his shaft, knowing exactly how Gordon wanted this.

  He wanted to watch.

  He wanted to focus on every tiny detail.

  He wanted to be looking into his boy’s eyes when he came.

  Countless times they’d started or ended a day like this, with Gordon ordering him to masturbate for him before getting him off.

  Jonah liked to put on a show for him, too. He kept his bush trimmed short, just long enough the fuzz wasn’t scratchy against Gordon’s face for when he wanted to go down on Jonah. More importantly, it gave Gordon an unimpeded view of what belonged to him—his boy’s sweet cock, those low-hanging balls that bounced with every stroke he took. Jonah’s cock thickened in his hand, now at full length. Every vein stood out as it darkened with blood flowing into it. His right hand reached down and tugged on his balls, up to his right nipple, which he pinched and rolled between his fingers, to the left, back down again. A three-point dance he repeated as he slowly stroked himself.

  There was always something incredibly erotic and vulnerable about watching him do this. When they were younger, the first time Gordon had asked to watch him, they’d already been having sex for weeks.

  When Jonah had at first refused, turning dark red in the face, Gordon had finally persuaded him to say yes by tying his hands behind him and teasing his cock, sucking him, stroking him, but not letting him come, and by stroking his own cock to further tease him until Jonah begged to do it for Gordon, just to be allowed to finally dome.

  The adorably bashful way Jonah had done it, too, eyes closed, face turned away from him, until Gordon had kissed him and made him look him in the eyes.

  He never took his boy’s vulnerabilities for granted, ever.

  Which was why Gordon loved to watch him.

  Because this was a show no one else had seen—or ever would see—but him.

  Another rule about these shows was that Jonah was allowed to take his time, unless specifically ordered to hold it, and come whenever he wanted to. Fast or slow, frantic or languid, it was up to him.

  “Love you so much, boy,” Gordon whispered, but Jonah was already down the rabbit hole, too far gone to talk. His gaze anchored to Gordon’s as his hands worked his body, delicate fingers sliding up and down his cock, pre-cum and lube mixing as he stroked his shaft.

  At the top of every stroke, he played his fingers over the head, teasing his glans and frenulum, back down again. Like Gordon, Jonah was circumcised, and he knew if he had his mouth on it that the head would feel hot and smooth, pulsing under his tongue.

  Jonah started rocking back and forth with his thrusts. That’s when Gordon shifted his hands to Jonah’s hips, holding on, working with him, part of this and yet apart from it, participant and watcher, witness and confessor. With his thumbs Gordon lightly stroked the hollows in front of Jonah’s hipbones, loving the way he shivered and threw his head back.

  This would be a long ride today, Gordon could tell. With this there was no in between, usually. Either hard and fast and intense, or a dance, a concert, an opera of pleasure and pure, unfettered need.

  Damn, I’ve missed this so much.

  They’d only done this a couple of times following Jonah’s return to him, before he left on tour, not always having the time for it, because they both knew Gordon loved it long.

  Jonah’s hand on his cock slowed, squeezing at the base, along the shaft, at the head, his other hand once again on his balls and slowing, driving back his release. Head tipped forward, he sucked in a long breath, held it, and slowly let it out while Gordon massaged his hips.

  Once again, his gaze found Gordon’s and he started over. Stroking, playing, teasing.

  Gordon’s cock leaked pre-cum over his abs, and he swiped two fingers through it, gathering it and feeding it to Jonah.

  His boy’s eyes took on emerald depths as his passion built and grew, that inner furnace burning brightly between them.

  All of this—at their center was the primal, raw passion. It had pulled Gordon back from the brink of self-destruction, and had allowed Jonah to bare his soul to make amends.

  It glued them together at a cel
lular level.

  It melded and mended their hearts, stitched together their tattered souls, and drove away any possible lingering doubts still trying to gain a toehold in Gordon’s mind.

  His boy.

  His. Always his.

  Just like he’d always been Jonah’s. Neither of them knew anyone or anything else.

  First…last…only.

  Jonah went through two more cycles before he tipped himself too far over the edge to pull back. When he finally stroked himself to completion he circled his head with his thumb and fingers, focusing on the head with short, rapid strokes, milking ropes of cum from his cock and all over Gordon’s.

  Gordon’s fingers clamped down around Jonah’s hips. It was that or he’d take over, and that’s not how this particular game was played.

  He felt the heat of every splash of cum that landed on his cock, his abs. Once Jonah caught his breath, he reached down with his left hand and gathered it up, using it as lube to stroke Gordon’s cock.

  “Fuuuck, yeah, boy,” Gordon whispered as Jonah’s fingers encircled him.

  He started slowly, differently than he’d stroked himself. Jonah knew Gordon’s body every bit as well as Gordon knew Jonah’s.

  He slid his hands around to cup Jonah’s ass and squeeze.

  Leaning his head back against the headboard, Gordon watched his eyes, watched Jonah watching him, the devious little smile his boy flashed him.

  In this way, too, Jonah was in control now.

  He leaned in as he stroked Gordon’s cock, not quite close enough to kiss, though. “Maaaaster,” he whispered, that sexy sing-song voice he always used. “My Maaaaaaster.”

  Gordon’s fingers dug into Jonah’s ass, making him bite down on his lower lip and even making his spent cock twitch where it was lying against Gordon’s flesh.

  One long, rainy Monday afternoon a few months after they’d moved into the shitty apartment, they’d both had the afternoon off. They’d cracked open a window enough to smell and hear the rain, turned off the radio, and had literally spent hours like this, first Jonah stroking himself, then stroking Gordon.

  Once they’d both come, they’d done it again.

  And again.

  Back then, they were horny all day, it felt like. They had two states—horny and exhausted.

  Even exhausted, sometimes they still managed to get it up and get each other off.

  No, when they were together, Gordon had no desire to make his boy go days without coming.

  He loved watching him come, hearing him come.

  Gordon glanced down to watch Jonah’s hand, the way his wedding band flashed in the light as he stroked him. No porn could ever compare to this.

  Ever.

  His willing, ready boy.

  His heart and soul.

  His.

  Gordon tipped his head back, catching Jonah’s smile as their gazes met once more. “My boy,” Gordon whispered.

  Jonah’s smile widened. “Always yours.”

  Over the next timeless while, Gordon alternated between squeezing Jonah’s gorgeously fuckable ass and holding on to his hips. It was that, or not be able to help himself and take over fisting his cock, because that was the unwritten rule to this delicious game.

  He was in his boy’s hands.

  Because he trusted his boy the way his boy trusted him.

  “Best boy ever,” Gordon said.

  Jonah’s cock had finished hardening. “Your only boy.”

  “Only boy I want or need, ever.”

  He didn’t understand why Jonah’s eyes suddenly went bright, blinking, until Gordon realized he was crying. “Only man I ever have or ever will want, ever.” But before Gordon could stop him, question him, Jonah’s hand sped up, and before another thought could enter Gordon’s brain, he came.

  He wrapped his arms around Jonah and pulled him against his chest as Jonah cried. “I missed you so fucking much, Gord,” he tearfully said.

  Gord held him, gently rocking him. “I missed you, too, baby. I’m so glad you’re home.”

  “I mean before. While I was a fucking dumbass. I don’t think I could have lived with myself if something had happened to you and I never had a chance to apologize, or tell you I love you, or make things right with you.”

  Gordon eased them over onto their sides, blinking away his own tears now. “Me, either, baby. Me, either.”

  Chapter Four

  When Gordon and Jonah finally emerged from their bedroom a little after eleven, they found Mal and Doyle in the kitchen.

  Like Jonah, Mal wore nothing but his leather collar and wedding ring.

  Doyle was sitting at the breakfast bar and perusing something on his tablet, while Mal was working on putting together breakfast.

  “Would you guys like some breakfast?” Mal asked. “Omelets and pancakes.”

  Gordon looked to Doyle first, as a matter of respect, even though Doyle had, weeks earlier, assured Gordon it was okay to accept if Mal offered to make him food or get him a drink or something.

  Doyle nodded, and Gordon turned to Jonah. “Yes, thanks, Mal. Boy, please help him.”

  This, too, had also been settled weeks ago—that Jonah could also reciprocate like this, helping cook or clean up the kitchen, or, as they already were this morning, doing laundry.

  The first thing Jonah did was refill Gordon’s coffee. As Gordon climbed onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar, Jonah set about helping make breakfast, while the two Doms talked.

  “Any plans today?” Doyle smiled. “I honestly didn’t expect to see you both out and about. I figured you’d send your boy to the kitchen for food runs and both of you would stay in your room today.”

  “We’re going to go run an errand. Jonah wants to buy me a ring today.”

  “Congratulations again. Loren’s all set for Saturday afternoon, and we’re going to cook steaks on the grill and have a cake. No arguments, either. We want to do it for you.”

  “Thanks. And we won’t argue with a thing. We greatly appreciate all you’ve done for us.”

  “That’s what friends do,” Doyle said. “Especially friends in common, as they say. Doubly so where recovery is involved. Is there anyone else you wanted to invite?”

  Gordon watched as Jonah glanced his way, but he shook his head.

  “I think we’re good. The band won’t be upset that we didn’t ask them, will they?”

  “No. Since they all know you two have a dynamic like we do, they understand that we sometimes will do things…nontraditionally.” He smiled again. “Makes life easier on us in that way, at least.”

  “We have them trained,” Mal joked, making Jonah snicker.

  * * * *

  After lunch, and a shower, Gordon and Jonah headed out in Gordon’s SUV.

  “I hate that I can’t even drive you places,” Jonah said. He wanted to be taking care of Gordon, not the other way around.

  “We’ll get you added to my insurance,” Gordon told him. “I need to stop by the apartment to check my mail, too.”

  Jonah reached over and rested his hand on Gordon’s thigh.

  “Do you have a preference where you want to go?” Gordon asked him.

  “Wherever you bought mine is fine, Sir.”

  Gordon’s hand settled over Jonah’s, his fingers curling around Jonah’s. “I’ll leave it up to you if you want to change your name or not.” But the tone he said it in sounded…wrong.

  Too quiet.

  “Gordon, I’m taking your name. I don’t give a shit about that. I want the world to know I belong to you.”

  “What about the work you’ve already done?”

  “So?”

  He went quiet again for a few moments. “How about hyphenating it? Jonah Yeager-Pope.”

  “It’s not like I have a massive backlist, Sir. The band can change what little I have now, because it’s all digital, so far. When the album drops, I’ll have them credit me as Jonah Pope.”

  “What about Luke?”

  “What abou
t him?”

  “What if he tries to find you?”

  “Gordon.” That was as close to a red as Jonah had ever called with him, for anything.

  Jonah needed a moment to regroup, to suck in air, to…fucking think.

  Now he understood why Gordon had reacted the way he had earlier, when Jonah had asked about calling his parents.

  Finally, he faced Gordon. “If Luke was going to try to find me, he would have done so by now. I never blocked him or my parents on Facebook, even though they threw me out. He probably barely remembers me. He was, what, six? Seven?”

  He’d only seen Luke one time after his parents threw him out, and that was that next Christmas Eve. Both his parents always had to work on that day, and he knew the next-door neighbor would be babysitting his little brother, as she always did.

  Gordon’s mom, Heather, had driven them there so Jonah could take Luke the stuffed dog he knew his little brother had wanted right before Jonah had been kicked out.

  No matter how much Gordon rightfully hated his own parents for his dysfunctional childhood, Jonah would never forget the kindness Gordon’s mother had done him that day. They’d gone with her to Walmart, where she’d done her shopping, and she’d caught him standing there, crying as he stared at the stupid display of stuffed animals.

  When he finally admitted why, she bought it for him to give to Luke, including trying to help him figure out when would be best to go.

  And she’d taken both of them, because Jonah had needed Gordon’s emotional support. Gordon had waited in the car at her command while she walked Jonah to the neighbor’s front door and knocked. The backup plan had been to give it to the neighbor to give to Luke for him.

  But little Luke had run up to him and cried, wrapped his arms around Jonah and begged him not to leave again.

  And yet, he had to go. Mostly because Jonah was honestly afraid his father might kill him if he stayed and caught him there. He told Luke the dog was from Gordon’s parents, afraid if his parents knew the truth that they might take it from him.

  The neighbor had been sympathetic to Jonah, had even offered to let him stay there with her when the explosion had happened, but Jonah had literally been afraid for his own safety, and hers. At least over at Gordon’s he knew Gord’s dad, Craige, could protect them. Gordon’s dad was three times larger than his own father, and while he’d been a snarly asshole during his most drunken of states, he’d never gotten physically violent. If anything, Gordon’s father reacted with what passed for protective anger when he’d found out about Jonah being thrown out.