“Good, pet,” MacKenzie praises, tightening his grip on the back of my neck as he tugs my crusty underwear down, revealing my half-hard cock. “I see you’re on board with that suggestion.”
Before I can think of a response—who knows if I would be snarky or obedient—MacKenzie has my dick in hand and aims it at the bowl. I whimper, knowing I need to pee but that I can’t help how hard I am at his touch.
“Be a good boy, and pee for me, pet,” MacKenzie coos, as if we’re intimate partners and not virtual strangers. As if he doesn’t have me in cuffs after kidnapping me. “And then I’ll get you nice and clean, as a reward.”
Closing my eyes and thinking of waterfalls, I finally let go, and it feels almost as good as an orgasm. I haven’t peed since I met Owen MacKenzie in the hallway, and I have a hard time comprehending that it has only been a few hours. In those hours I’ve gone from free to captive.
MacKenzie shakes my dick and then undresses me methodically. Thankfully, my dick has gone down at the reminder of my plight. When I’m naked, he cuffs my other hand and drags me into the open shower. Looping the short chain over the showerhead he turns it on without warning.
“Shit!” Yelling at the cold water running over my head and back, I don’t notice MacKenzie stripping down until he steps behind me as the water warms. “What are you doing?” I ask through a shiver, though the water is getting hotter. I have a feeling it’s more to do with his closeness. I can’t help thinking about how much easier the cleanup of a murder would be if done while naked in the shower.
Yeah, fear, that’s why I shivered.
Taking the soap bottle from a tiled inset shelf, MacKenzie lathers his hands before working them into my shoulders. I groan from the strength in them working my muscles just right. He’s methodical ashe makes his way down my torso, scrubbing under my arms as I will myself not to laugh or groan.
After removing the hand-held shower nozzle and rinsing me from head to toe, he moves on to shampoo. Tugging my head back by the hair, I feel my dick get hard again and bite my lip to stop from moaning as he starts massaging my scalp.
Besides the revolving door of nannies and brief memories of my mom, I can’t remember being washed so thoroughly. And Owen MacKenzie was definitely not my nanny.
Pushing my front against the cold, marble wall, I shiver in earnest. Mackenzie’s touch leaves me and I’m biting back a groan of disappointment this time. Looking over my shoulder, I find him lathering his own sexy body. He’s fitter than I expect from a man in his forties who spends his days sitting on TV. A smattering of salt and pepper hair covers his chest, but I can’t see if he has a happy trail when he moves to press himself against me, and I feel his own hardness. The water is running over me to rinse him off, and I wonder how long the hot water would last if we moved on to other activities.
Right when I’m about to throw caution to the wind and ask if he wants a round two, MacKenzie reaches around me to turn off the water. He lifts the handcuff chain and pulls me out of the shower to dry me off. Pulling a spare toothbrush from under the sink, he tells me to brush, so I do.
Everything he does is measured, careful, and I realize I’m not getting a repeat of the plane.
After being dried off from head to toe, though my hair is still damp, I’m marched right back to the bed. MacKenzie throws the covers back and grabs the key he left on the nightstand. I’m hopeful he changedhis mind until he easily pushes me down and secures the cuff to the wrought iron headboard.
“You’ll sleep here tonight,” MacKenzie states, stepping away to grab his underwear and glasses. I’m sad to see his dick covered, but he does look hot in those glasses. “I’ll bring you food in the morning.”
“What if I have to pee again?”
“Then you’ll be a good boy, and hold it.” Mackenzie leans in close, grabbing my dick again in a grip that’s almost painful. “Or I’ll have to rub your nose in it.”
The fact that my dick twitches in his grip at the filthy threat isn’t unnoticed, but all it earns me is him letting me go. MacKenzie stands to open a dresser drawer, pulling out a T-shirt.
“Good night, pet.”
“Good night, Sir.”
Chapter six
Mac
LeavingEthaninthemorning is harder than I expect. I have him use the bathroom, feed him breakfast, then chain him to the bed one-handed so he can reach the snacks and water I leave on the nightstand. There hasn’t been enough time for me to trust him, yet.
Plus, he has the TV to watch. I wonder if he’ll watch my show, and then I remember that I’ll be home again by the time it airs.
Still, I tell my cleaner not to come for a couple days, and give her stern instructions not to go into the casita when she does, with the excuse a friend is staying over who can’t be disturbed. She agrees, probably used to the whims of rich people in LA.
Any time I like, I can watch Ethan on my phone. Di can too, and she knows he’s there. I’m glad there are no cameras in the bathroom, or she would have seen me shameless putting my hands all over the boy.
Though Ethan Miller isn’t really a boy, at twenty-eight, the eighteen year age-gap between us says otherwise. I’m old enough to be his father, but I’m no Daddy.
I called himpet.
Calling him that is out of character for me. I have brought people back to my guesthouse to play with strict NDA’s, but they only called me Sir while I called them whatever they were comfortable with. Pet is a literal pet name. I tell myself it’s meant to be degrading, to keep my captive under my thumb, but even I don’t fully believe it. I’ve never held a man’s dick for him to pee before, but after doing it last night and this morning, I find I like the control.
Pulling out my phone after my makeup artist leaves me alone in my dressing room, I open to the feed of him in bed. He’s sprawled out, both arms over his head as if I haven’t allowed him that bit of freedom with one hand uncuffed. Ethan looks to be napping with the TV playing some daytime soap opera. Maybe a telenovela?