His Cocky Cellist Read online Cole McCade (Undue Arrogance #2)

Categories Genre: BDSM, Erotic, Gay, GLBT, M-M Romance, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Undue Arrogance Series by Cole McCade
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Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
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He’d just called himself a submissive.

Out loud.

His stomach quaked, and he scrubbed a hand over his face, breathing shakily. “Fuck. That was a lot.”

Gentle understanding laced Amani’s voice. “It can be, the first time you say it.”

“Even for you?”

Amani folded his hands in his lap, regarding Vic with patient humor. “I think you’ve been listening to the wrong stories. Doms are human, too. We question. We doubt. We fumble while we try to figure out who we are and what we desire. And we can end up just as shaky as anyone else, when we find these revelations about ourselves. Are you nervous, Vic?”

“Are you?”

“Why would I be?”

Vic dropped his gaze to that tinge of red in Amani’s cheeks. “You normally blush around men you’re about to grind beneath your heel?”

That burst of delighted laughter that came when Vic startled Amani rolled out like falling silver coins. “So dramatic. I’m not going to grind you beneath my heel…but I might walk on your ego a bit.” Amani rose, then, fluid as water, caftan skimming silkily against his thighs as he stepped closer to Vic—and offered his hands, both outstretched. “Come here. Come with me.”

Vic licked dry lips. Pulse and breath raced each other, as he reached for the inherent promise in those curled, beckoning fingers, slipped his hands into Amani’s, and let the pretty thing draw him to his feet.

One step at a time, amber cat-eyes holding him mesmerized, Amani drew him toward the bed dais, leading him into the quiet shadows surrounding the massive platform. So silent—so silent that he could hear his own pounding heartbeat far too loud, but more…he could hear Amani’s subtly rasping breaths, a wordless message that said he was just as nervous, that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same ache that rose higher and higher as they ascended the terraced steps.

As they halted at the edge of the bed, Amani released his hands and caught up the slender leather belt caging the caftan against his lissome body, pulling the buckle free and letting it fall. The loose folds of the caftan fell free, and left to their own devices they clung to Amani’s frame even more enticingly, outlining the silhouette of his shape in whispering promise. Amani let the belt fall to the floor, the tink of the buckle against the tile loud enough to stop the heart, and reached up to curl warm fingers against Vic’s throat, palm caging his pulse, fingers encircling to gently collar him, and he nearly moaned as that touch, that careful pressure, seared into his skin.

“Down,” Amani commanded softly.

It was as though the strength drained from Vic’s legs, leaving him completely weak and sinking down, breathing shallowly, until his knees struck the tile hard and he was looking up at Amani, amber eyes taking over his world and almost leaving him dizzy with longing. That hand didn’t even need to crush against his throat for him to struggle for every gasp, when his chest tightened and burned with the subtle implication of control in that light touch.

Amani smiled slowly, tracing his thumb down the line of Vic’s pulse, the edge of his nail trailing shivers along his skin. “Very good,” he murmured, bending toward Vic, bringing his plump, hot mouth close to his ear to purr, “sweet boy.”

Something about those words—precise, deliberate, spoken with soft emphasis, roused a hot tremor that started in Vic’s spread inner thighs and melted up toward his cock; he curled his hands against his knees, digging his fingers against his jeans to keep from reaching for Amani when…when…Amani hadn’t given him permission to touch, and that was how this worked, wasn’t it? But he still gave himself liberty to lean toward that sinful mouth, to let his cheek brush against the warm silk of Amani’s.

“I don’t think I’m very sweet.”

“You are when you kneel.” Amani’s mouth traced Vic’s earlobe, drawing it past such lushly yielding lips, a tease of heat, a wash of breath against the soft, vulnerable place behind his jaw, and Vic shuddered with a low moan in the back of his throat. “When you do well, you’ll be my sweet boy. When you don’t…”

Amani trailed off, leaving that silence while Vic’s mind spun as he struggled with the unspoken suggestion. Then…he…

Ah.

“O-oh,” he whispered, and,

“You understand, then?” Amani breathed.

Now—now it was sinking in. That if he did as he told, his reward would be Amani’s approval, those two words granting him grace. If…if this was what he truly wanted, what he needed…

Then those two words from the one he chose to submit to would be all that he needed, his entire reason to submit.

Uncertainty tickled at him, if only because he didn’t know if it could be that easy, that simple—didn’t know if that was who he was, but he was already shivering to Amani’s every whisper, and God, he was willing to find out.


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