[Siren Sensations ManLove: Alternative Consensual BDSM Contemporary Romance, MM, spanking, sex toys, HEA]
Gordon’s soul was already shredded once. He thought he’d failed Jonah as his Dom, and it took everything he had not to throw away his sobriety, too. Three years later, he’s finally found peace, a new job, and is trying to move on. That’s when his big break comes along—a chance to play with one of the most famous rock stars ever.
Except it also means playing with Jonah.
Jonah realized too late that the worst mistake of his life was leaving Gordon. Make that second-worst. His worst mistake was trusting the wrong person and breaking Gordon’s heart with cruel words he wishes he could erase. When the chance of a lifetime falls in his lap, he’s willing to throw it away if it means he can win Gordon back.
Jonah wants another chance to prove himself. Does Gordon dare risk his trust, his heart—and their biggest career opportunity ever—and let his boy back in?
Tymber Dalton is a Siren-exclusive author.
All the way to the address Tuesday afternoon, Gordon tried to keep his nerves in check. This would be a great side-gig for him, and who knew? Maybe it’d lead to bigger and better things, eventually.
Although he wasn’t stupid enough to think he could quit his day job. Working at the school was a guaranteed paycheck, especially if they bumped him up to full-time next year.
Working with the students was gratifying, too.
He still couldn’t believe Mevi-fucking-Maynard called him! It was a small freaking world, for sure.
He hadn’t realized Laurel’s “guitar teacher” was one of the most famous musicians in current rock history.
And that Darryl was friends with Mevi, and had recommended him to Mevi in the first place.
Proves it’s who you know, not what you know.
He also made another note to himself to update his YouTube channel with more videos. Heck, that Mevi had actually gone to his website and looked him up also still blew him away.
And now I’m going to get to sit in a studio and record with him!
He’d filled out the paperwork at the film production office yesterday after work. Yet another brush with fame, that a famous movie star lived in Venice and was close friends with the rocker.
I wish I could tell Jonah about this.
Besides the NDA he’d signed, he had no idea where Jonah was, or how he was doing. Despite cruising Facebook for hints of Jonah, that was the only stalking he allowed himself to do. He couldn’t risk his already fragile sobriety seeing pictures of Jonah with someone else.
Wishing his old love happiness and success was far easier to do without having proof of it smashed into his face.
One day at a time.
Maybe one day he could do that, look for him, see how he was doing.
Today, however, was not that day.
Still, in his heart, he hoped Jonah was doing great things and living the life he’d dreamed of. Despite the pain of losing him, he wanted Jonah to be happy.
Even if it was without him.
When he drove up to the gate, he punched in the four-digit code Mevi had given him and waited, his pulse racing, as the gate swung open for him.
There were several other cars already there, so he parked next to one of them and found the side door he’d been told about.
It opened into a dim corridor, made even darker by how bright it was outside and his eyes taking a moment to adjust, but a guy was standing at another door several yards down the hallway.
“Studio’s here,” the man called out before walking in.
Gordon pulled up short.
That couldn’t be…
That had to just be wishful thinking on his part. He didn’t get a good look at the guy before he walked through the door.
Gordon pulled the outer door shut behind him, walked down the hallway, and was about to reach for the door when it opened again, and there stood Mevi Maynard.
He smiled. “Gordon?”
Unable to speak, he nodded.
“Good to finally meet you in person. Darryl said great things about you.” He extended his hand and Gordon forced himself to shake with him.
“Um…I have my gear in my car.”
“Great! We’ve got pizza on the way. Come on in and we’ll introduce you around first.”
Gordon didn’t see anyone in the room he recognized except Rich Hurst, holy shit. There was someone he hadn’t seen in a while.
“Hey, everyone,” Mevi said, calling for their attention. “This is our other new guy who’s going to help us out with the studio sessions here before we leave on tour. I’d like you all to meet Gordon Pope.”
Rich stood to hug him, and they introduced Gordon around.
Then Mevi scowled. “Where’s Jonah?”
Gordon froze. Oh, shit.
“Studio one, I think,” Rich said.
Mevi walked over to an open doorway. “Jonah?”
The man stepped into the doorway, and it was like three years hadn’t passed.
His green eyes, his ginger hair—still even had the short beard and mustache.
The tats Gordon had spent hours tracing with his fingers and tongue, tats he’d sat with him for every one.
Or maybe he has new ones now.
One on the inside of his right arm, just above his elbow, that were Gordon’s initials.
Just like on the inside of his own left wrist, the only tat he had, were Jonah’s initials in the same stylized, swirling font.
A tat he couldn’t bear to get rid of, or have covered, because it was his boy, and part of who he was and had been.
It was a reminder to him of what he should not repeat in the future, to be a better person.
To stay sober.
Jonah spoke first. “Hey.”
I love you. I’m sorry. I miss you so fucking much. Tell me how to fix this, please.
All that ran through Gordon’s mind, but what came out was, “Hey.”
Gord stepped out of the doorway, into the room, and shut the door behind him, pausing as he stared down at him.
Three years away, and there were new lines on Gord’s face that he knew hadn’t been there before.
Lines he knew might not be there if he hadn’t left.
“Strip,” Gordon finally said.
Jonah leapt to his feet and started ripping his clothes off while Gord walked over to the cabinet on the other side of the room and perused its contents. He selected a few things, but Jonah couldn’t see what from that angle, and he wasn’t going to move unless Gord told him to.
Gord grabbed a sheet and carried it over to the futon mattress. There, he dropped the items he’d selected before he spread the sheet out over the futon and pillows. Then he returned to the cabinet, grabbed something else, and walked over to Jonah.
He snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor.
Jonah dropped to his knees again, and realized it was a blindfold in Gord’s hands.
“You want me to trust you, but do you really trust me?” Gord asked.
He couldn’t help it—it’s what he wanted to call him. That’s who Gordon would always be, to him.
Gordon blindfolded him, tightening the buckle before grabbing his hand. “Up.”
Jonah stood, his fingers curling around Gord’s. Yes, he trusted him.
He didn’t deserve a second chance, and he deserved to be put through hell, but he trusted Gord with his fucking life.
He always would.
Gord led him over to the futon mattress, let Jonah’s feet bump against the edge.
“Hands and knees on it,” Gord said.
He recognized that voice, too—that was Master.
Jonah’s cock twitched, still trained.
That was the tone Gord always had before they played, whether it was a bare-handed spanking, or a pummeling, or stripes across his ass with the riding crop. It meant pain…
He dropped down onto the futon and got in position, praying this meant there was a chance now.
That Gord wouldn’t just beat him and then say, haha, see what it feels like? and leave.
Except he knew he’d deserve that, too.
He listened, but he didn’t hear Gord undressing, and didn’t know what to think of that. Usually they were both naked when they played.
But “usually” was three years ago. They were both different men now.
He heard Gord moving around the room, the sound of him picking things up, the snick of a lamp switch, then he sensed that Gord turned off the overheads. Music came on, soft rock.
One night, Gord tied him up and made love to him for hours, edging him to a Chopin album he loved. To that day, he still couldn’t hear Chopin without popping wood.
They’d fucked to Aerosmith and Jimmy Buffet, to Sweeney Todd and A Chorus Line. They’d fucked to lightning and thunder and the soft darkness of a power outage while a tropical storm blew through the area.
They made their own music and set their own rhythm.
He flinched when he felt hands touch his ass, then fought back a greedy moan as Gord’s fingers dug in, painfully hard, definitely going to leave bruises the next day.
If he was lucky.
Nails raked down his back, down his ass, along his thighs, up again.
He flinched again when Gordon lightly flicked the underside of his sac, not enough to hurt, but more than enough to warn him.
Fingers stroked his sac. “I don’t think someone should get to come yet. You came last night. I think someone’s going to have to really earn his next one.” Gordon wrapped a jelly cock ring around the base of Jonah’s sac, and another around the base of his cock, making him whimper.
This ride was going to get bumpy.
The bare-handed spanking started first, hard, brutal, and leaving him gasping with pain when Gord finally eased up and took a pause.
But then he was back, this time with a paddle. He laid the flat, cool wood against Jonah’s ass for a moment, letting him take it in, before he smacked him with it the first time.
And this wasn’t a love tap, a playful swat.
This was a hard, swinging-for-the-bleachers kind of hit that left him howling in pain.
“That’s it,” Gord said. “I want to hear your pain.” SMACK!
Damn good thing Doyle had told them the room was soundproofed, because he was going to test its outer limits.
There were several hits of that level before Gordon switched implements. This one felt like a riding crop, and he viciously went after Jonah’s ass and thighs with it.
Through it all, Jonah cried and sobbed and fisted the covers, but he did his level best not to fucking move.
He’d take it all, every damn bit of it, and he wouldn’t beg for mercy, either.
He didn’t deserve it, for starters.
He’d show Gord he’d take it, take everything.
Jonah lost track of time. His whole world had shrunk to one small sphere that encompassed only him and Gord and the pain he was currently enduring.
Finally, he was aware of the feel of cool hands on his ass, stroking, soothing him. Gord stretched out next to him on the futon and tucked him against his side. Then he realized at some point Gord had shed his shirt, but he was still wearing shorts.
And he was hard.
Jonah started to work his way south, to go down on him like he used to do, but Gord stopped him.
Confused, Jonah settled in again, breathing in Gord’s scent, wondering what this meant and not daring to hope.
Gord’s hand settled in his hair, stroking his head. “I’m still thinking, boy,” he softly said. “Just…be, for now.”
Relieved to at least have that, that pet name restored, made him break down sobbing, in relief, this time.