Page 34 of Whirlwind

He opened his mouth to answer, but the Dom stopped him with a finger to his lips. His mouth had never felt so erogenous before.

The sexy man leaned in close, his mouth to Micah’s ear. “No, what I meant was, what does that mean when I’m fucking you?”

A shudder swept through his body and Micah grabbed the edge of the counter. He needed something to hang on to.

Oh, God. They were going to, this man was going to… His cock came to sudden attention beneath the packer.

He realized that he still needed to answer. Fortunately, he had this one by rote, too.

“It means that I can’t support my own body weight for very long, standing or kneeling. And my legs might move in ways that I don’t intend. My arms are fine, but my legs… I could even kick you without meaning to.” Hopefully his honesty would be worth something.

The Dom gave that rich chuckle again. “Maybe I’ll just have to tie you up then.”

Micah had to look up then, to make sure that he wasn’t just imagining all of this. Or being played, though this didn’t feel like it.

This was everything that he wanted. The feel of ropes on his skin, letting everything go while this confident man had his way with him.

The man’s dark eyes were warm with desire. Micah felt like he was going to melt into the chair. He could look into those deep eyes all night.

Unfortunately, that was when the bartender came back. “Good evening, Master Eric. What can I get for you?”

Micah started to answer, but realized he hadn’t been asked a question. Master Eric had been asked a question. Now he knew the man’s name.

It was both disorienting and exciting to be in this world of submission. The bartender had said he’d get Micah’s order earlier, but now that a Dom was standing beside him, he wasn’t being asked.

Did that mean that Master Eric was going to order for him? Or was it just a protocol that Doms got to order before subs?

Now that he thought about it, how often did Master Eric come here? The bartender sounded awfully familiar with him. Had they dated before? Or, he tested out the new lingo in his brain, had a scene together?

Master Eric’s deep voice distracted him from his thoughts. “Hey Riley, good to see you.” The fondness in his voice was apparent. Micah felt his heart sinking. “I’ll have a mint lemonade. Have you ordered yet, boy?”

That name, boy, sparked something alive inside of Micah. But, um, what? A mint lemonade?

That sounded exactly like what he wanted, but was this kindergarten? He could literally see people fucking in the mirror, and the sexy Dom was ordering a lemonade?

“I, uh, haven’t ordered yet. I was going to get…”

Micah stopped talking when he felt the scratch of Master Eric’s scruff along his neck. His deep voice curled around his ear like a caress.

“I’m getting your drink, boy, and I’m setting a limit at anything harder than a beer. I don’t drink while I’m playing, and I want you to understand and remember everything I do to you.”

Micah shivered again. This was heady stuff, that mix of respect and control. In the rest of his life, he hated when anyone tried to baby him or make decisions for him. Here, he just felt safe and cared for. “I’d like a mint lemonade, too.”

“Good boy,” Master Eric whispered in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. “I left my jacket on a chair over there. It’s navy blue. Go wait for me there.”

“Yes, Sir.” This time the words rolled off his lips. The words he’d been waiting to say.

He picked up the crutch and tried not to feel self-conscious as he began to walk. He spotted the jacket quickly and started toward the chair.

Everything had just happened so fast that his mind was whirling. He tried to use the brief walk to give himself time to think. Was the Dom watching him? Was he turned off by his lumbering gait? Was he going to…?

Oh. Fuck. Micah had gotten so distracted by their sexy encounter, and the easy acceptance of his disability, that he’d forgotten to mention his other situation. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He should have just mentioned it first thing. Should have blurted it out. Got it printed on a fucking t-shirt. Or tattooed on his forehead. Now that he’d gotten his hopes up, the disappointment was going to be so much worse.

He turned to look over his shoulder. Master Eric had the two drinks and was walking toward him with a predatory grin, which only widened when he saw Micah’s face. He knew he must look like a frightened rabbit.

Micah’s heart was thumping, but for all the wrong reasons. He scurried toward the chair so they wouldn’t have the embarrassing conversation about what was under his shorts—or rather, what wasn’t under his shorts—in the middle of the room.