Time Out of Mind (Suncoast Society #43)(46)

Doyle’s gaze fell to their hands. He made no move to let go or shake Mevi’s loose grip free. “Why me?”

“Because you. Something about you unlocked me. Opened doors inside me I didn’t even know were closed. Inspired me not just to create but to become the best version of myself possible.”

Doyle couldn’t make himself meet Mevi’s intense gaze again. “If I get involved with you that crosses a whole lot of ethical boundaries. We’ve already come damn close.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But I can’t not tell you how I feel. You told me honesty was mandatory. Well, I’m being honest. More honest than I’ve ever been in my life. I love you, and I want to be yours. Unless you don’t want me.”

Doyle closed his eyes, his cock throbbing in his shorts as he breathed and tried to maintain control. It was too easy to call up a fantasy and bring it to life.

Then there were his own issues. He fully recognized he dealt with abandonment issues, his childhood rage over his father’s death, losing his mom, then his divorce.

But…

Mevi.

Never in Doyle’s life had he wanted someone so much.

The fear…wasn’t it worth the reward? To finally possibly have a relationship that pulled so deeply at his soul as Mevi did?

When he felt the soft caress of lips against his, his eyes flew open. Instinctively, he grabbed the back of Mevi’s head, fisting his hair, and kissed him. Hard.

Kissed him in a way Doyle damn well knew Mevi had never been kissed before.

And that moan in the air? Oh, that was from himself as he tasted Mevi’s lips, the salt air on them, the other man’s tongue tentatively searching through parted lips to find his.

Finally, he used his grip in Mevi’s hair to break their kiss, not letting go of him. “I can’t be your SC if we’re involved.”

“I know.”

“I need to call Clark and cancel the contract. Ethically, I cannot do this with you if we’re professionally involved.”

“Please don’t leave me. Come on tour with us.”

“I’ve never been involved with a client before. Ever. This is a hard line I’ve never come close to blurring, much less crossing before. Not just as a sober companion, but in my entire career.”

“I know. I get it—please? I-I’ll even keep pretending we’re not involved so it doesn’t tip anyone off and put you on the paparazzi’s radar. I’ll pay your expenses out of my own pocket. Please, Sir!”

Those two words, and the tone Mevi said them in, finished Doyle, swept away every last rational and logical objection. He pulled Mevi in for another kiss, this time in full control of it from start to finish.

This was probably one of the worst ideas ever. For the first time in his professional life, he was going to completely violate every ethical practice he’d sworn to uphold and had upbraided others for not adhering to.

And he realized he didn’t care.

Because he’d never felt about anyone the way he felt about Mevi, and he’d be lying if he denied it any longer, guilt over the professional lapse be damned.

He cupped his hand around the back of Mevi’s neck and stared into his eyes. “Being mine means I own you. I did a vanilla-sprinkles marriage with Kathy. I vowed I’d never do that again. Anyone who’s with me needs to understand that. I’m a sadist. I’m a Dominant. And if you think there were times in the past several weeks that I was a hard-lined *, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“That’s what I want, Sir.”

Dammit. Every time he said that word, it made Doyle’s cock painfully throb.

Mevi noticed. He leaned in, nearly kissing-close. “Sir,” he whispered. “Master. My Master.”

Doyle’s hand tightened on the back of Mevi’s neck, pulling him in for the kiss, bruising, crushing, possessive. He slid his hand up to fist his hair again to break the kiss. “Being my boy means following my rules.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“No sex with anyone but me, that means men and women. Not even kissing. I don’t mean friendly pecks on the cheeks or something with friends, I mean romantic kissing.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“No play with anyone but me, unless I specifically give you permission ahead of time and I arrange it with them.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You stay sober. That is a hard limit. No alcohol. Period. And you follow all of my rules.”

“Anything, Sir.”

He pulled him in for a hug, holding him, one arm around Mevi’s waist and the other hand resting on the back of Mevi’s head. He laid his head against Doyle’s shoulder, his arms around him, clutching him.

Doyle closed his eyes again. Holding him felt so perfect, so right. Even the couple of inches Mevi had on him in height didn’t seem to matter.

How did this in any way end well for them? Doyle wasn’t under any illusions that they had a fairytale life ahead of them. They both had careers that would frequently keep them apart. Mevi was a rock star, for chrissake, one publicly so deep in the damn closet that a team of bloodhounds with embedded GPS ability couldn’t find him. Forget being able to freely be kinky, he couldn’t even be authentically him.

“My beautiful, perfect boy,” he whispered in Mevi’s ear. “My very good boy. What am I going to do with you?”