Page 79 of Don't Shoot Me Santa
“But if it’s too much—”
Aaron kissed him again. Harder. Fiercer. As if the only way to stay grounded was to press himself deeper into Kenny. There were no more words. Only heat. Ache. That rising, helpless want to come apart in the hands of the only man who had ever known how to hold him together.
So Kenny guided him upstairs.
He took Aaron to the bathroom first. Peeled off his clothes. His own followed, and they stepped into the shower. Kenny adjusted the water until it was warm enough to melt. Then he washed him. Not in the way lovers often did, not to seduce or to arouse. But to honour. To tend to the bruises leftbehind by the day with kisses barely touching but landing deep.
“You’re safe,” Kenny whispered. “You’re mine.”
After, Kenny dried them both, then took Aaron’s hand and led him into the bedroom. Aaron paused in the doorway and the breath he drew in wasn’t sharp. It was weighted. Heavy with realisation.
Because Kenny had made the room ready.
Dozens of LED tea lights flickered in shallow dishes and mason jars across the shelves and on the windowsill. Warm gold light painted the walls, softening every hard edge. Kenny had already turned the duvet down, the sheets beneath fresh and folded. A bottle of water waited on the nightstand beside a rolled towel, two energy drinks, a dish of sliced apple, and a tin of balm Kenny always used when Aaron’s body needed tending. A bowl beside the bed was filled with clean cloths. A bottle of almond oil. Lube warming in a ceramic dish. But he’d made sure none of it looked clinical. None of it looked like prep.
Because it wascare.
Aaron took another step inside.
Kenny reached for him again, thumb grazing the hollow of his throat. “You don’t have to give me anything tonight,” he said, voice low, anchoring. “You already have. This is for you. All of it. I’m here. Stay with me.”
Aaron swallowed. Nodded.
“Lie down.”
He obeyed. No teasing smirk. No pushback. Stripped obedience. Trust laid bare on cotton sheets. And he was already hard, cock flushed and heavy against his stomach, but he didn’t touch it. He wouldn’t. Not after days of being denied, drawn out, undone. Kenny had trained him into thatrestraint. Gently. Patiently. Thoroughly. And now he held it like a secret between his clenched fists and the bedspread.
Kenny looked at him for a while longer. Drank in the shape of him. The tension in his thighs. The way his chest rose, shallow and eager, as if already close and not knowing how to ask for more. So Kenny crawled onto the bed and kissed him. Everywhere but there. Worshipping. He licked the ridge of Aaron’s hip, sucked at the sensitive skin beneath his ribs. Kissed the tattoo on the inside of his wrist. Tugged his nipple ring with enough teeth to make Aaron curse.
Aaron arched, raking his fingers through Kenny’s hair, and opening his mouth in a breathless gasp that Kenny swallowed with a languid kiss. He pushed his tongue past lips slick with want, then broke it off with purpose to grab Aaron’s wrists, pinning them to the bed behind his head.
“You don’t touch.” He held his gaze. “These hands stay right here. Understand?”
Aaron darted his tongue across his lips, and he swallowed hard. But he nodded. Kenny hummed. There’d be no rope here. Aaron would hold himself still for one reason only.
Because Kenny demanded it.
So he released his grip. And Aaron… lay there. Spreading himself out for Kenny to do as he pleased. Surrendered. Submitted. Entirely. And with that gratification coiling low in Kenny’s belly, he descended again, trailing his mouth lower, not to tease, but to build. To break Aaron down slowly.
He didn’t go for his cock right away.
Instead, Kenny traced a ruinous path towards it. He kissed along Aaron’s stomach, nipped the inside of his thigh, dragged his tongue in obscene patterns, leaving Aaron shivering. Every breath thick, every nerve alive with anticipation and denial. Every minute before contact was as important as the act itself.
Kenny hovered, ghosting his lips over Aaron’s leaking cockhead. Aaron arched in desperate offering.
“Who do you belong to?” Kenny asked, voice low.
Aaron trembled, chin tucked, eyes blazing. But he said it, steady and sure. “You.”
Satisfaction coiled hot in Kenny’s chest. “Good boy.” He then closed his mouth over the base of him, and Aaron nearly sobbed at the heat. Hard. Flushed. Leaking. Every drop of want pouring into Kenny’s keeping.
Still, he didn’t rush. He licked a flat line up the shaft, resolute, measured. And Aaron whimpered. He jerked his hips, instinct betraying him, so Kenny spread his fingers wide across his hips, locking him down.
“Don’t,” he rasped, velvet wrapped around steel. “Stay still. Let me take you there. Let me give you what you’ve earned by being patient for me.”
Finally, Kenny swallowed him down. Leisurely. Inch by inch. Heat and suction wound tight with every drag, every second another fray pulled loose in Aaron’s restraint.
Aaron gasped, arched his back, clutching the sheets in balled fists. Kenny knew every instinct screamed for faster. Harder. For release. But Kenny gave him only control, and the molten pull of his mouth. The patience of a man who knew exactly how to undo him.
