Cory looked at their joined hands. At the calluses on Marcus's palms from the ropes. At the steady, patient way he held on.
Marcus's jaw tightened at that part. Just once. Then he let out a long breath. love junkie sub
"That's the shame leaving," Marcus said quietly. "Let it out." For three months, Cory was sober. Not from substances—from the hunt . He deleted the apps. He stopped scrolling thirst traps at 2 a.m. He went to Marcus's house every Tuesday and Thursday, knelt on that foam pad, and let someone else decide when he was allowed to feel wanted. Cory looked at their joined hands
Marcus studied him. Then he nodded once. "Good. That's a start." Their first scene was in Marcus's basement, which he'd turned into a quiet, absurdly tidy dungeon. No red satin or whips on the wall—just clean mats, a suspension rig, and a shelf of lotions and first-aid supplies. Marcus's jaw tightened at that part
"Okay," Cory said. "Small."
Marcus nodded slowly. "I know. And we're going to talk about that. But first—" He set down his tea and took Cory's hands. "First, I need to know if you're safe. Not physically. Inside."
Because the better he felt, the more he wanted the big hit. The one he used to chase. The all-consuming, destructive, I-would-die-for-you intensity that had wrecked every relationship he'd ever had.