No Angel: A Dark MM Romance by Daniel May

Author:Daniel May [May, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-02T18:30:00+00:00

11 THE FLOWER

HILL

Hill sat at his desk in his study, shades drawn to conceal all but for the thinnest sliver of green behind him, and worked slowly at a sketch of Argiope aurantia.

Descriptive images, not words, rose slowly to the surface and bloomed into detail.

The full, oblong body, a marriage between bullet and teardrop shape. Long, fine legs, refined to such fine points that they took only a single stroke to detail the tips. Inward pointing tips. Glossy black ink. Each striped leg spread nearly to full length, poised as light as breath upon a not-yet visible web.

In his mind he could see it swaying softly in the garden. Floating. Angelic. He could taste the damp and breezy air. He sank more deeply into the spider’s patience, into that clear, sedate yet alive, complete purity of waiting.

His shoulders rose and fell very, very slowly.

HIs pen moved on its own.

Flick. The completion of one more leg.

The swaying angel.

Click.

His eyes rose as the door opened.

The boy Enzo was slow to enter — reluctant. Hill saw his dark shape pause in the doorway, backlit by the bright hall, rendered black and absent of detail. Hill couldn’t see the expression on his face.

But Hill could smell the light waft of lavender soap. He could hear the pausing, holding, intake of breath.

And when Enzo finally stepped inside and let the door close behind him — a decision that took only a second, but stretched for Hill into something closer to an hour — Hill knew from the boy’s uncomfortable shifting from foot to foot that he had put on the leathers.

Hill’s tranquility was disrupted by a profound sense of satisfaction. It was deep, almost decadent. A feeling of triumph that was plush and velvety.

He hadn’t been at all certain that Enzo would obey the silent command.

He hadn’t known how much obedience he could expect during the day. The night before, the boy had first run from him, only to fall to compliant, moaning pieces in his arms. After that, the boy had pulled a knife on him… and then, once again, fallen to compliant, moaning pieces in his arms.

Following the same pattern today, Hill wouldn’t have been surprised to see the boy arrive in his study carrying the firepower which he just now recalled lay in a forgotten bedside drawer.

But Enzo had not come armed.

He crossed the carpet one reluctant inch at a time, dragging his feet, which were bare — just as Hill had intended. When laying out clothes for the boy, he had recalled the erotic defenselessness of those bare feet, their frightened scrabble on the floor, the toes curling helplessly against his calves.

He had wanted to see Enzo defenseless again.

And Enzo was defenseless. As the boy came gradually into the circle of Hill’s desk lamp, he looked not at Hill, but at first the floor and then at the wall. Looking anywhere but at the man gazing at him. Looking anywhere but at himself.

Visible points of flushed red in his cheeks.

And already, a meek tent in the front of his pants, where Hill had given him nothing to hide behind.

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