HIS BOY NEXT DOOR (COMMON GROUND #40) BY R.J. MORAY EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Authors: R.J. MORAY
- Language: English
- Genre: Contemporary romance
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- Size: 2 MB
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If Jack Nash were to list the many pleasures of having a handsome,
obedient boy at his beck and call, showing him off would be in the top ten.
Clothed, naked, bound in rope—Jack loved to put Channon somewhere
people could admire him knowing that he belonged entirely to Jack.
Of course, Jack had a voyeuristic streak a mile wide, so this was
hardly surprising. That Channon did not, and found being on display deeply
embarrassing, only made Jack’s enjoyment of it all the sweeter.
“Arms up,” Jack said, running his hands over Channon’s sides.
Channon did as he was told, of course. Jack continued winding rope around
his chest and checking the tension as he went. He ran a line in front and
came around to smile at Channon. “Comfortable?”
Channon nodded. “Yes, Sir.” His gaze flickered from Jack’s face to his
own reflection in the wide glass of their bedroom mirror and back again, as
if the sight of himself being tied up was too dangerous to look at for long.
He did look lovely. Normally when they did this, Channon would be
naked, but tonight he was dressed to go out in black slacks and a fitted,
black button-up. Jack was tying the rope over his clothes so it would be
visible. Where they were going tonight, it wouldn’t be out of place at all.
Jack had chosen to bind Channon in a hishi karada—a basic diamondpatterned body harness. For contrast, he’d chosen a length of moss green
jute (matching Channon’s eyes) and another in gold (matching Jack’s tie) to
create a symmetrical, alternating pattern. Now he tied off the karada in the
back and wove the ends in to keep them out of the way.
“Arms down,” he said, picking up Channon’s collar. He tapped
Channon’s shoulder with two fingers, and Channon went obediently to his
knees.
From the floor, he looked up at Jack with a hopeful, almost innocent
smile. He was a handsome young man, all of twenty years old, with strong
shoulders and thick-muscled thighs. His dark hair and pale, sun-shy skin put
Jack in mind of a young Henry Cavill circa The Count of Monte Cristo.
And Jack loved him very much.
“Good boy,” he said, smoothing a hand over Channon’s hair. He
buckled the collar around Channon’s neck. The collar was strong, black
leather with brass D-rings and a solid buckle. Jack fastened it and, as
always, checked the fit. Channon had been wearing this collar for two years
now, and the tongue of the buckle dropped easily into its well-worn hole,
but Jack checked anyway. He liked to be thorough. Who knew? Channon
might have bulked up.
He was certainly muscular. One of his chores was to keep up the
fitness regime Jack had approved for him. This was not solely for aesthetic
purposes; it was one of the many ways in which Jack reminded Channon
what they had agreed to, who Jack was to him, and to whom Channon
belonged.
Because Jack was Channon’s Sir, and Channon was Jack’s boy, and
what was between them was special, almost sacred. For Channon,
reminders of his position with regard to Jack were a kind of worship, which
was exactly how Jack liked it.
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