Earned: The First Lessons
A Jax & Tre Story (Book One)
—A South Side Story—
Preface
There’s a difference between having control—
and being control.
Tre Richmond always thought he was the one in charge. Built like a beast, confident as hell, with a body that made most men fold. But Jax Carter didn’t flinch. Didn’t compete. He just watched—and waited.
Because Jax knows something Tre’s still learning:
Real power doesn’t move fast.
It moves with purpose.
What begins as a private test behind closed hotel doors becomes the start of something deeper. Not just domination—but restraint. Not just heat—but presence. These aren’t just sexual games. They’re lessons. And every lesson leaves a mark.
The first lessons?
They don’t ask. They command.
Character Guide
The men. The bodies. The power between them.
Jax Carter
- Age: 39
- Height: 6’3”
- Build: Broad-shouldered, thick forearms, clean-lined muscle under tailored clothes
- Cock: 9 inches, wide at the base, slow to rise, devastating when it does
- Ass: Firm, high, untouched—he gives the orders, not the holes
Jax is control in its purest form. Quiet. Married. Dangerous in that slow-burning way. He’s not flashy, but you feel him in every room. A five-star chef who lives for precision, timing, and heat—and that extends to the men he trains. He doesn’t yell. He waits. And when he finally moves? You don’t forget it.
He’s not here to entertain. He’s here to own.
Tre Richmond
- Age: 26
- Height: 6’2”
- Build: Heavy-built, ex-linebacker body, mocha skin covered in black ink
- Cock: 9.5 inches, thick and uncut, always heavy, always demanding attention
- Ass: Round, muscular, untouched—but his control is what’s being tested now
Tre walks like he fucks—hard and confident. Men stare. Some submit on sight. But dominance isn’t just about presence—it’s about patience. And that’s what Jax is sharpening. Underneath the bravado is a man who’s never truly been challenged. Until now.
He doesn’t just want to dominate.
He wants to deserve it.
Shawn Taylor
- Age: 33
- Height: 5’10”
- Build: Slim, sculpted, a mix of strength and submission
- Cock: 7 inches, thick, always full when he’s being used
- Ass: Smooth, warm, stretched just right—Jax keeps him trained
Shawn doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t have to. He belongs to Jax, and every motion shows it. He kneels perfectly. Obeys immediately. And when he bends over, Tre can’t stop watching. He’s not competition—he’s a living blueprint of surrender.
And sometimes, an unexpected temptation.
Micah Lane
- Age: 27
- Height: 5’8”
- Build: Lean, bratty gym twink, soft mouth and quick hips
- Cock: 6.5 inches, pierced at the tip, usually caged unless he earns it
- Ass: Pink, slick, endlessly greedy—desperate for discipline
Micah is trouble wrapped in lube and attitude. He knows exactly how to provoke. How to moan. How to beg just to see if you’ll deny him. He’s been broken in by others—but something about Tre gets under his skin. He pushes Tre’s limits. Makes him work for control.
But if Tre passes the test?
Micah’s ready to be ruined.
8:43 a.m.
Legacy Tower Suites – Executive Level
The suite was quiet again.
But this time, it wasn’t nerves in Tre’s chest—it was clarity.
The submissive Jax brought in last night was still out cold, snoring faintly in the other room. Plugged. Used. Grateful.
Tre stood near the window, bare-chested, towel draped around his waist, glass of water in hand. His own release had dried near his abs. But what stuck with him more than the scene—more than the begging, the way the man shook under his grip…
Was Jax.
Watching.
Stroking.
Silently affirming him—without a word.
That changed something. No—everything.
He turned, moved slow through the suite. No trace of Jax anywhere, but the room still held him. A quiet pull, like scent and gravity.
Then he saw it.
A note—neat, folded, weighted down by a single black cufflink on the marble counter.
“You’re becoming dangerous.
Char & Smoke. 9 p.m.
Don’t bring your dick.
Bring your mind.”
—J.
Tre didn’t smile. Not fully.
He folded the paper in half, tucked it into his wallet, and stared at the glass. His reflection looked different now.
Still 6’2”, 225. Lean waist. Heavy chest. Inked arms. Fully tatted from clavicle to wrist, thick lips, low fade still clean. That long, curved dick—pierced through the head—hung heavy between his thighs. But it wasn’t just the body.
It was how he stood now.
Like he’d stepped into something earned.
8:57 p.m.
Char & Smoke – Private Wine Room
The room was cold and low-lit—just enough light to catch shadows in the folds of dark oak. Two chairs. No plates. Only bourbon on the table and a low hum of Coltrane on vinyl behind the walls.
Tre walked in through the back hallway, dressed clean.
Black slacks. Cream sweater. Gold watch. No cologne—just the scent of skin warmed by summer.
Jax was already there, standing by the far wall near a bottle rack, blazer still on, cigar clipped but unlit.
He didn’t turn around when he spoke. “You still thinking about it?”
Tre’s voice was calm. “The scene?”
“No.” Jax finally turned. “Me strokin’.”
That hit.
Tre stepped forward, slower now. “I’d be lying if I said no.”
Jax looked at him full-on now. Calm. Dark. Controlled. “It meant somethin’.”
Tre nodded. “I know.”
“You didn’t freeze up.”
“I didn’t plan to.”
“That’s the difference between playin’ dominant… and being one.”
Tre’s lips parted, but Jax stepped in, cutting the air between them.
“You ready to move different?”
“I thought I was.”
“You ain’t. Not yet.” Jax handed him a glass. “This next part? No moaning, no nut, no noise. Just you. Your voice. Your stillness.”
Tre swallowed slow. “You trust me with that?”
Jax didn’t answer right away. He circled once behind him, then stopped just near his ear.
“I trust what I see in you.”
Then he stepped back and opened the second door in the wine room.
Inside—dim lighting, soundproof walls, and a small setup:
One chair. One stool.
And a man already kneeling.
Blindfolded. Plug flashing red. Skin flushed from the prep. Head down. Shoulders tense, like he knew he was about to be claimed.
Tre glanced once at the man—then locked eyes with Jax.
“This a test?”
“No.” Jax’s voice was lower now. Controlled. “This is a study.”
Tre didn’t move yet. “So I guide it.”
“You control the air,” Jax said. “You set the rhythm. No nut. No rush. Just presence.”
Tre stared.
His jaw flexed. His hand tightened around the glass.
Then—he stepped in.
Just three steps forward, slow, shoulders wide, boots thudding against the wood floor like a judge walking into chambers.
Jax stayed back. Watching.
“Can I speak?” Tre asked.
Jax’s voice came cool, but low. “He’s yours. Just remember—dangerous men don’t raise their voices.”
9:04 p.m.
Char & Smoke – Inner Room
The door shut behind them with a soft click.
Tre stood still, letting his eyes adjust. The air was heavier in here—closer. Oak, leather, sweat. The kind of quiet that didn’t ask for attention. It already had it.
The man kneeling near the center was built slim, maybe late 20s, dark skin glowing under the recessed amber lights. Not naked—just stripped. Plug flashing red inside him, subtle. Thighs spread just enough to show obedience. Not desperation.
He didn’t flinch when the door closed.
He was waiting.
Trained.
Tre exhaled slow through his nose. Not nervous. Just… aware.
Jax stepped back into the outer room, but the door stayed cracked. Enough for Tre to know—he was still being watched.
Still learning.
Still earning.
He walked forward, slow and steady. Boots on the hardwood, no rush. Just weight and presence.
He didn’t speak yet. Just stood close, staring down.
The man’s breath shifted, just once.
That was enough.
“Open wider,” Tre said—low. Calm. “I need to see what I’m workin’ with.”
The man obeyed instantly, thighs sliding apart, arch deepening. The plug blinked faster now. Small movement. Big message.
Tre crouched. One knee down, elbows on his thighs.
“Good. You listen.” He ran a hand down the back of the man’s thigh. Warm. Shaking a little. “That yours?”
“Yes, sir,” the man whispered.
Tre’s tone didn’t change. “Who put it there?”
“You did.”
Tre’s brow lifted. “Nah. Try again.”
“…Your man.”
Tre smirked. “Better.”
He pressed the plug deeper with one finger—slow. Just to feel the clench. The tension.
Then he pulled his hand back and stood.
“You’re not here for nut,” Tre said. “You’re here to stay open. To feel what I choose.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tre stepped back once, picked up a leather paddle from the table. Smooth. Heavy. Not too much sting. He dragged it along his palm, then looked toward the cracked door.
Jax was watching. Barely visible. Just a silhouette behind smoked glass.
Tre nodded once. Not for permission.
For presence.
Then he walked back and circled the sub. “You need to be marked?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“To remember.”
Tre grabbed a handful of hair, tugged the man’s head back just slightly. “You remember better when it hurts?”
The man didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Tre let go.
Smack.
The first strike was firm. Not hard. Just enough to pull a gasp from the man’s lips.
Then another. Then two close together. One cheek. Then the other. Even. Measured.
The plug blinked faster.
Tre crouched again.
“You like pain?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You like this pain?”
“Yes.”
Tre reached around and gripped the man’s length. Hard. Throbbing. Caged.
“I could take this off. Let you stroke.”
The man whimpered. “If you allow it…”
“I didn’t ask what I could do,” Tre said, voice lower. “I asked if you want it.”
“I… yes.”
Tre let go. “Good. But you won’t get it.”
The man whimpered again—this time deeper.
Tre stood. His voice got quieter. “You don’t earn relief in this room. You earn stillness. You earn restraint.”
The sub’s breath caught, but he nodded.
Tre took another slow lap around him, rolling his shoulders out. The sweater clung to him—tight over his chest. He didn’t need to undress to command the space.
That was Jax’s first lesson.
Stillness. Control.
The next ten minutes were a clinic.
Tre gave precise instructions:
- “Arch deeper.”
- “Show me that plug.”
- “Breathe through the slap.”
- “Say thank you after every one.”
He didn’t yell once. He didn’t stroke. He didn’t sweat.
He just controlled the air.
9:19 p.m.
Same Room
The man was shaking now—but not broken.
Tre knelt again. Smoothed his hand down the red-marked cheeks.
“You did well.”
The man nodded, panting. “Thank you, sir.”
“Hold position,” Tre said.
He stood, wiped his palms on a towel, then walked to the cracked door.
Jax was waiting. Arms crossed. Face calm—but his chest rose slow. Measured. Like a man holding back something hungry.
Tre stared at him.
“Well?”
Jax took a beat.
Then nodded once. “You didn’t nut. You didn’t rush. You held the room. You held yourself.”
Tre exhaled. Not pride—confirmation.
Jax stepped into the room and passed him slow. No eye contact. Just presence.
He stood in front of the sub and pulled the plug out—slow and slick.
The man shivered.
“Tre,” Jax said, turning.
“Yeah.”
“Go clean up. Meet me outside in five.”
Tre didn’t speak.
Just obeyed.
9:26 p.m.
Char & Smoke – Side Hall
Tre leaned back against the wall, palms still warm. He didn’t realize how much adrenaline was still in him until the cold hallway hit.
Jax came out a minute later, fresh cigar between his fingers.
“You learning fast,” Jax said.
Tre’s voice dropped. “I feel it.”
“That’s the thing about dominance,” Jax said. “It shows up in how you move before the scene, not just inside one.”
Tre nodded once.
Jax reached into his pocket and handed him a folded paper—smaller this time.
Tre unfolded it.
A name. A room number. A time.
Friday. 10:30 p.m.
Legacy Tower. Suite 47.
No jock this time. Full suit.
He’s gonna be plugged already.
You’re gonna wait for me to start him.
—J.
Tre stared at the paper. Then folded it.
Jax didn’t wait for a response.
He lit the cigar and walked off into the night like he’d just passed the torch.
10:27 p.m.
Legacy Tower – Suite 47
The door was already ajar.
Tre pushed it open slowly, stepping inside without a sound. His presence alone was enough to shift the air.
Tailored black suit. No tie. Top buttons undone. Tattoos glinting beneath the dim amber light. His cologne hit next—warm, masculine, and dark.
The suite was low-lit, moody. One bottle of bourbon. Two glasses. No music.
But there was someone waiting.
Tre’s eyes landed on him instantly—mid-30s, smooth brown skin, gym-cut frame, arms cuffed behind his back, knees spread on a velvet cushion in the center of the room. Naked. Blindfolded. Bare.
The man didn’t flinch.
Not yet.
Tre stepped in close, walking a slow circle.
The man exhaled when Tre’s boots stopped behind him.
“You already wet.”
The sub shuddered. “Yes, sir.”
“You do that for me?”
“No, sir.”
Tre crouched beside him, voice low.
“Then why the fuck am I here?”
The man paused, breath shaky. “Because he said I wasn’t ready.”
Tre’s eyes sharpened.
“Who’s he?”
“Jax. Said I wasn’t ready for his hands yet. Said I needed yours first.”
That twisted something in Tre’s chest—equal parts pride and pressure.
“You here to impress him?”
“I’m here to learn control. Even when it hurts.”
Tre’s jaw ticked.
He stood slowly. Poured one glass of bourbon. Didn’t drink it.
Then he stepped behind the sub again.
“You ever had your mouth used before your body?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You ever been denied after that?”
The sub hesitated. “No, sir.”
“Good.”
Tre ran his fingers through the man’s low fade. Held his chin. “Open.”
The sub obeyed. Mouth wide. Tongue out.
Tre held the glass over his lips and poured slow—bourbon coating his tongue, running down his chin, hitting his chest.
“Swallow.”
The man did.
Tre sat back, watching him breathe. Chest slick now. Skin flushing.
“You ever had someone beat you without laying a finger?”
The man nodded slowly.
“I need you to say the words.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve had it happen.”
“Then let’s see if you remember how to suffer pretty.”
Tre didn’t move for several minutes. He let silence fill the room. The sub stayed kneeling, thighs trembling now, cock twitching without permission.
“Put your face to the floor. Keep your knees wide. Count down from ten.”
The man lowered himself, forehead to the carpet. “Ten… nine…”
Tre unbuckled his belt, but didn’t remove his pants.
“Eight… seven…”
He stepped in closer.
“Six… five…”
He raised one boot and gently pressed it between the sub’s shoulder blades—weight firm but not cruel.
“Four…”
“Three…”
Tre took another sip of bourbon. Still didn’t touch himself.
“Two…”
“One…”
Silence.
The sub waited.
Tre leaned down close, breath hot at his ear.
“You didn’t cum. You didn’t beg. You followed.”
The man swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
Tre pulled a black card from his coat and slid it under the sub’s face.
“Room 1701. Tomorrow night. Someone will be waiting for you.”
The man’s breath hitched.
“Who?” he whispered.
Tre stepped back. “Not your place to ask.”
He turned and walked toward the door.
But just before he left—
He looked back, voice cold and sharp.
“Tell Jax I don’t need his tests anymore.”
Then he was gone.
11:22 p.m.
Penthouse Suite — W Hotel, Chicago
Tre stepped out of the private elevator, quiet, focused.
He’d gotten used to Jax’s setups by now. One sentence texts. No over-explaining. Just a time, a room number, and a command:
“Don’t bring your questions. Just bring your belt.”
Tre knocked once.
Door opened without a word.
Jax was already inside, standing by the minibar in a gray turtleneck and slacks, sleeves pushed up, watch glinting under the amber light. He looked calm. Casual. In control.
But what got Tre’s attention was the man kneeling near the couch.
Younger. Shirtless. Slim, toned build. Fully exposed. Rope marks across his chest. Hands tied behind his back. Head bowed.
Jax didn’t look up. Just sipped his drink and motioned toward the man.
“He’s been waiting for you since 9:30.”
Tre didn’t speak.
He stepped closer, eyes studying the boy. Trembling, breathing hard, but still. There was something in the way he knelt—obedience, sure, but also anticipation.
“He yours?” Tre asked without turning.
Jax exhaled through his nose. “He’s no one. But tonight… he’s yours.”
Tre crouched, voice low. “What’s your name?”
The boy flinched but answered. “Micah.”
“You clean?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tre nodded once, stood up, and turned to Jax.
“You watching tonight?”
Jax smirked faintly. “No.”
Tre paused.
Jax’s voice dropped.
“I’m studying.”
11:43 p.m.
Micah was moaning now—quiet, desperate. Tre had stripped him slow, tied his ankles to the base of the couch, and made him crawl. Every touch was earned. Every command was met with gratitude.
Jax hadn’t said a word.
He just watched.
Silent.
One leg crossed, glass untouched, jaw flexing every few minutes.
Tre pressed two fingers into Micah’s mouth, watched him suck eagerly. Then turned him over, face down, ass up, lips parted.
He didn’t plug him.
Didn’t need to.
Tre worked him open slowly, palm flat on the small of his back, keeping him grounded as his fingers teased and circled.
Micah shook, moaning harder. “Please, sir… please… I can take it…”
Tre said nothing.
He just leaned in and whispered:
“You don’t cum unless he says you can.”
Micah hesitated. “Who?”
Tre tilted his head toward Jax.
Jax stared at the boy. His face was unreadable.
“Keep stroking,” he said to Tre, voice calm. “I want to see what kind of dominance you give when I’m not in the room.”
“But you’re in the room,” Tre muttered.
Jax stood up, slowly. “Not for long.”
He walked behind the couch, out of sight—but the mirror above the bar gave a full reflection. Jax sat there, watching Tre’s every move in the glass.
And then… he did something Tre had never seen him do.
He unzipped his pants. Pulled himself free. And started stroking.
Slow. Intentional. Watching every stroke Tre gave.
Micah didn’t know. His eyes were closed, tears streaking as his body begged for release.
Tre looked into the mirror.
Their eyes locked.
“You stroking for me now?” Tre asked.
Jax didn’t smile. Just kept going.
“I’m stroking for what you’re becoming.”
That hit Tre in the gut.
He leaned down, bit Micah’s shoulder gently, then slid inside him in one long stroke. The boy gasped, knees shaking.
Tre didn’t thrust hard. He just held it there. Let the weight of it settle.
Micah whimpered. “Oh f-fuck…”
Tre growled low. “Take it. You wanted it.”
“I want to cum…”
“Then ask him.”
Micah turned his head toward the mirror, voice breaking.
“Please, sir… can I cum?”
Jax’s hand didn’t stop moving. His eyes stayed on Tre.
“Not yet,” he said.
Micah sobbed softly.
Tre pulled out, teasing the tip at the edge.
Micah shook again. “Please, please—”
“Now,” Jax said, voice sharp.
Micah exploded, body convulsing. Tre kept stroking him through it, watching him fall apart.
In the mirror, Jax finally grunted and came across his own hand, breathing heavy, leaning forward.
For once… undone.
12:14 a.m.
Hotel Balcony
The city was dark and quiet below them. Tre stood near the railing, shirtless, sipping water. Jax leaned beside him, no longer the stoic teacher—just a man who had watched something awaken.
Tre spoke first.
“Didn’t know you’d stroke.”
Jax nodded slowly. “Didn’t know you’d take the room from me.”
Tre didn’t know what to say to that.
Jax glanced at him.
“You’re not a student anymore.”
Tre exhaled.
“You said that before.”
“I meant it then. I mean it now.”
Tre looked out over the skyline. “So what now?”
Jax took his time answering.
“Now I stop testing you.”
Tre turned, surprised. “For real?”
Jax nodded. “From now on… I train with you. Not above you.”
They stood in silence.
Then Jax leaned in, voice low.
“You’re becoming dangerous, Tre. Not ‘cause of your dick. Not ‘cause of your body. Because of your presence.”
Tre smirked faintly. “That’s what dominance is, right?”
Jax nodded once. “And now you’re learning what most never do.”
Tre raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
Jax locked eyes with him.
“How to make a man cum… without ever touching him.”
Scene Five: Reversal
Friday – 10:42 p.m.
Langston Private Residences, Suite 1904
The elevator opened directly into the suite. No hallway. No concierge. Just clean marble floors, a scent of cedar and smoke curling in the air, and one single message on Tre’s phone:
1904. Walk in. Don’t ask. Just begin. My control ends at the door. —J
Tre slipped the phone into his pocket and adjusted the cuffs of his black linen shirt. No jewelry. No belt. Just calm presence and quiet dominance filling out every inch of his 6’2” frame.
He hadn’t known what to expect—not really.
Jax had said he had a “new sub” who needed guidance. Said Tre was ready to take the lead. Said to bring the same stillness and power he’d been building for weeks. But none of that explained the hush in the suite, or the way the lights had been dimmed to a gold amber hue.
Tre closed the door behind him without a sound.
Then he saw it.
Near the center of the room, knelt on a thick leather mat, was Jax.
Face calm. Shoulders broad and bare. Wrists resting on his thighs, open, offering.
Nude.
Nothing but a black leather collar buckled around his neck, and a folded towel laid carefully beneath his knees.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t lift his head.
He waited.
Tre stood motionless for a full twenty seconds, just watching. The weight of it hit all at once—not a game, not a test. Jax had given him something rare.
Access.
Tre crossed the floor slow.
His boots sounded louder than normal against the marble. Every step was deliberate. His mind ran clear: not with hesitation, but intention. He had permission to act, but not to question. He didn’t need to.
He circled once around Jax, clocking the flex of his jaw, the subtle rise of his chest. No fear. No shame. Just stillness and readiness.
“You here for me,” Tre said finally—voice low, deep, calm.
Jax gave a quiet nod, eyes still down.
Tre walked behind him, pulled the drawstring shades closed one at a time. The city lights faded. What remained was silence and scent. A bottle of bourbon rested on the bar. One glass. Already poured.
Tre sipped it.
Then removed his shirt.
His tattoos caught the light—bold ink curling over his chest, down his ribs, across the muscle of his arms. One deep breath and he slid off his pants, then stepped back into the room wearing only his briefs, the thick imprint of his cock already rising.
He stood over Jax.
“Hands behind your back.”
Jax obeyed.
Tre stepped around front and gripped his chin, lifting his face. Jax’s lips parted slightly—but not from words. From instinct.
Tre didn’t kiss him.
Not yet.
He stared into his eyes. Let the quiet say everything.
“You ready to be used?”
Jax nodded, throat tight.
Tre’s voice lowered. “Say it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The shift had begun.
Tre stepped back and slowly palmed the bulge in his briefs. Thick. Heavy. Pierced. The metal barbell at the tip of his dick pressed against the fabric, glinting through it. Jax’s eyes dropped—just for a moment—then lifted again.
“You want it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tre smirked.
“Crawl.”
Jax moved instantly—broad, powerful body sinking to hands and knees, crawling across the leather mat like he belonged there. Like he’d been waiting for this moment since the first time he watched Tre command someone else.
Tre sat down in the velvet chair near the window and spread his legs.
“Take them off.”
Jax knelt between his knees and peeled down the briefs—slow, deliberate. Tre’s cock sprang free, thick and long, barbell gleaming at the head.
“Open your mouth.”
Jax didn’t hesitate.
Tre fed it to him slow. No thrusting. Just let him take the weight, the warmth, the shape. Jax moaned around it, deep and guttural, as his lips slid down the thick shaft, burying his throat against the base.
“Good,” Tre whispered, stroking his head once. “Stay there.”
He let him work—slow, wet motions, eyes focused up, breathing steady. Every time Jax’s tongue flicked under the piercing, Tre’s abs tensed.
When he pulled out, Jax’s lips were slick and parted.
Tre stood, dick heavy in his palm, and walked back toward the mat.
“Knees. Back straight.”
Jax followed.
Tre moved behind him, dropping to one knee, letting his hands trail up Jax’s thighs, over his hips, gripping the firmness of that ass. He didn’t rush. Just felt. Pressed. Explored.
Then:
“You know what I’m about to do?”
Jax didn’t speak.
Tre leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “I’m going to fuck you. Not gently. Not playfully. But with presence.”
Jax’s breath caught.
“Say it back.”
“You’re going to fuck me. With presence.”
Tre nodded.
“Good boy.”
He spat in his palm, slicked his cock once, and gripped Jax by the hips.
The tip pressed slowly against his hole. Not fast. Not brutal. Just pressure. Patience. And a steady push until the head slipped in.
Jax groaned.
Tre paused.
“Breathe.”
Jax nodded again.
Tre fed him more—inch by inch, the curve of his shaft making Jax squirm, grunt, adjust. The sound of it filled the room—wet, thick, real. No music. Just the slap of skin and the sound of submission.
“Keep your hands on the floor,” Tre said.
And then he moved.
Long strokes. Full control. One palm on Jax’s shoulder, the other gripping his hip. Every thrust was slow but deep—like he wasn’t just taking his body, he was rewiring it.
“You feel that?” Tre growled.
“Yes, sir—f-fuck—”
“You don’t cum until I say. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tre sped up—just slightly. The slap of balls against ass grew louder. The sweat on their backs slicked the rhythm. Tre’s fingers dug in.
“You been thinkin’ about this?” he whispered.
Jax grunted. “Yes, sir.”
“How long?”
“Since the first time you took control.”
Tre leaned forward, chest against his back, lips grazing his neck.
“Don’t ever hide that shit again.”
Jax’s whole body tensed.
And then Tre grabbed his throat from behind—just enough to hold. Not to choke. Not to hurt. Just to remind him:
This isn’t yours anymore.
“You about to cum?” Tre asked.
Jax couldn’t answer. Just nodded, sweat dripping down his back, muscles tight and flexing.
Tre pulled out.
Jax almost collapsed.
“On your back,” Tre said. “Now.”
Jax rolled over, chest heaving. His cock was leaking hard, thick veins pulsing.
Tre straddled his chest, jerking his own dick—slow, right above Jax’s face.
“You ever tasted it after I’ve been inside someone?”
Jax blinked—then nodded.
Tre groaned. “Open up.”
He leaned forward and came hard—rope after rope landing across Jax’s lips, his chin, his tongue. The sound of it was breathless, raw. Deep from the gut.
Jax moaned as the first wave hit his mouth—and that pushed him over the edge.
He came untouched—dick shooting high, coating his own chest with thick white arcs, trembling under Tre’s weight.
When it ended, Tre leaned down, kissed him slow—tongue dragging through the mess he’d made. Not rushed. Not performative.
Just dominant.
And earned.
Saturday – 2:12 a.m.
Langston Private Residences, Balcony
Jax stood shirtless again, glass of water in hand, the wind cooling sweat off his skin. He didn’t speak.
Tre came out behind him, towel over one shoulder.
“You good?” he asked.
Jax nodded. “Better than good.”
Tre stepped beside him, watching the city light flicker across the glass towers.
“I didn’t know what you were walkin’ into,” Tre said.
“I did,” Jax replied. “That’s what made it real.”
They stood there quiet for a beat.
“You sure you want to keep givin’ me that much control?”
Jax finally turned to him. “I already have. I just hadn’t shown you.”
Tre took a long breath.
“What now?”
Jax smirked. “Now we find out how far you can take this.”
He turned back to the skyline.
“And I stay close.”
Tre reached over, gripped the back of Jax’s neck, pulled him in slow—and kissed him once, deep and confident.
No more questions.
Just presence.
Just power.
Just earned.
