Page 69 of Coiled Tight
Keeping him still so that he swallowed every drop of cum I spilled down his throat was worth having to get our breakfast to go because we were past the hotel’s breakfast time. It was extra worth it when it gave Cam that dopey smile that he kept through the first hour of being in the truck and only faded because he proceeded to fall asleep against the window.
It was a sweet sight. Sadly, it wasn’t one that kept my head from spinning. I’d been the one setting tentative rules. He’d been the one to say he grew attached quickly, that he was bad at pretending things hadn’t happened when they had, and at first, the words had brought relief to every pore of my skin. Now, I had to question it. I had to question how he was going to cope with everyone’s teasing, with everyone’s looks because they’d all be thinking about Roy. I’d warned him about it, told him the gist of it, but was it enough?
I had to question what it would be like for me, too. They already knew me as the recluse who kept to himself and did only the bare minimum to keep a semblance of team building while I spent my time with the horses or fixing whatever needed to be fixed around the sanctuary. With the news about Cam, though, they’d have questions. They’d reach out. The issue with my father’s philosophy of keeping everyone in our team no matter what—unless they really, really, fucked up—meant that most of them had been there for the fallout. The ones who hadn’t had heard the stories. I didn’t even want to know what the stories sounded like. I’d heard a lot of it the first few weeks, while I didn’t have the luxury to bury my head in the sand and pretend the metaphorical explosion hadn’t happened.
“You’re frowning a lot.”
“Am I?” I cleared my throat. Of course I was. I rolled the window down so that I could rest my arm there before focusing back on him. “Can I ask you something? It’s unrelated to the frowning.”
Mostly, I needed time to figure out what the frowningwasabout, and how to put it into words in a way that wouldn’t completely ruin it.
“Okay? I thought only we asked random questions, though. Just for the record.”
“Good thing I’m not that rigid with roles.” I was rigid in knowing what I liked and how I wanted it, and in the expectations, I set on a boy after we’d negotiated a scene, but even those could be bent when the situation called for it. “When you got interviewed for the role at the sanctuary… did you have a bracelet or something with the ABDL flag on it?”
“Did I?” Cam straightened. “Um. Why are you asking? I don’t…Fuck.”
“Is that a yes?”
Cam didn’t answer right away. Then, his body turned into a rod, he threw his face into his hands and let out the most distraught combination of a groan and a whimper.
“How long has he known?”
“He didn’t know it was the ABDL flag,” I clarified. “He just assumed you weren’t cishet and decided setting us up would be a good idea.”
“Uh…”
I grimaced. “Why do you think you’re boarding in the main house instead of the house every other worker is at?”
I didn’t know how I felt about it yet. For better or worse, my parents didn’t show up that often in the sanctuary, and when they did, there was always something more impending to talk about. Now, though… It wasn’t a stretch to guess Sofía would be the first to know about this, and she only had my back to a degree. She had run interference when the whole debacle with Roy happened, and she hadn’t said anything when she saw me making out with one of the volunteers when I was in high school and hadn’t been ready to come out yet. But that was the big, important stuff. The stuff she knew I’d beat myself over for. This, she’d see it as something to hold over my head and tease me for.
She was the annoying type of sister who thrived when she had stuff to taunt with in the middle of a family dinner.
“Because I’m the main vet, and it’s closer?”
Right. I’d given him a rhetorical question he clearly hadn’t seen as one.
“I wish it was that simple.”
“Sorry. I’m still stuck on the fact that your dad knows I’m into diapers.”
“Hedoesn’t,” I repeated. “The worst thing that can happen is that he starts thinking you’re trans because of the colors.”
“I’m not.”
“I know that, darlin’.”
“I mean, being trans is not a bad thing obviously.” He gulped, stopping whatever trail of thought he’d begun to share. “I mean. Don’t you think I’m awkward enough around him? Now I’m going to be picturingthisconversation. Ugh.”
“Sorry.”
I was. It hadn’t been my intention, per se. I’d just been wondering about the flag ever since that phone call months ago.
“He’s going to make it weird, isn’t he?”
“Nah.” That, I could reassure him of. “My parents have always made it a point that the sanctuary is one for people, too. I don’t think we’ve ever hired or had anyone volunteer that didn’t belong to at least one oppressed group. Word spread pretty quickly, so… I’d say about two thirds of us are queer.”
There was no way he hadn’t noticed the diversity in skin color, bodies, and gender expressions, or how not subtle some of them were with their teasing and banter, but I was beginning to understand more about the way his anxiety worked. Putting things into words, even when they’d be considered obvious, seemed to help him process.
