Damien
The door clicked shut behind me, and I stood in the dark kitchen, jacket still on, keys in hand, trying to understand what I had just done.
I’d fucked my best friend.
In the woods. At night. Like some animal. No words of comfort, no foreplay. Just took him, used him, left him gasping and thanking me.
And I’d loved it.
My pulse was still high. The way he’d bent—without hesitation. The way he’d shivered at my voice. The way he’d offered himself.
What shook me most wasn’t the act.
It was how right it had felt.
I tossed my keys in the dish by the door and leaned on the counter. The moonlight spilled through the blinds, striping the tile floor. My fingers still smelled like him. Like sweat and spit.
I hadn’t known I needed that kind of control.
I thought about Steve’s face when he realized it was me. That moment when fear, shame, and hope collided in his eyes. It wasn’t just lust. It was relief. Like I’d seen him—really seen him—and didn’t look away.
I never had. I’d noticed him watching. Noticed the way his voice dipped when he asked if I wanted a drink. The long pauses when we sat too close on the couch. The carefully folded laundry left on my bed when I was too lazy to do it myself.
I saw it all. I just didn’t let myself expect it. I decided it was just who he was and then didn’t think about it.
But now? Now I couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t unfeel it.
He trusted me with something he hadn’t even admitted out loud. And I’d stepped into that space like I was born for it.
What does that make me?
I walked into the bathroom, stared at myself in the mirror. My reflection didn’t flinch. It looked calmer than I expected.
It looked in control.
I thought I’d feel guilt. Or at least confusion. But all I felt was clarity.
He wanted to be owned.
And part of me wanted to own him.
I turned on the tap, rinsed my hands, the cool water grounding me. Then I pulled out my phone, opened our chat thread. Just to see it. Just to make sure this wasn’t a dream.
His ad. My response. The time stamp.
Real.
I typed nothing. Just stared for a moment. Then I walked to my room, pulled off my clothes, and climbed into bed.
He wasn’t home yet.
But when he got here… he’d follow whatever command I gave.
And I needed to decide what kind of man I was going to be. The kind who walked away? Or the kind who picked up the leash?
I left the bedroom door cracked.
