Made to Order by Brigham Vaughn

FIVE

“Good morning.”

Donovan looked up from his phone. He’d been in his usual a.m. mode, shouldering the door of the restaurant open and walking down the service hallway as he caught up on news articles before the rush of his day began.

He hadn’t anticipated an ambush by Tyler. Donovan eyed him skeptically, his broad frame blocking the hallway. “Morning. You’re here early.”

“Yeah. Well, it is Sunday and …”

Sundays meant brunch service and an earlier dinner service.

The “and” was because Rachael was on vacation and Donovan was answering to Tyler. A flash of guilt washed over him for how rude he’d been before. There was no denying he cared about the place. Donovan was feeling salty about the responsibilities being given to Tyler, but Tyler deserved respect for what he’d earned. Manager was a title like chef was. And it would be shitty of Donovan to deny Tyler that.

“Yes.” Donovan cleared his throat. “We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“We do,” Tyler said.

Donovan noticed for the first time that Tyler wasn’t dressed in his usual uniform of a black T-shirt with the tavern’s logo and jeans. The bar was the more casual side of the tavern, so his typical outfit made sense, but today he was dressed more like the staff at the front of the restaurant, in black trousers and a black button-down shirt. His ever-present ball cap was gone too and with it off, Donovan could see that Tyler wasn’t losing his hair at all. He was definitely starting to get some silver at the temples, but though his hair was closely cropped, it was thick and black otherwise. Huh.

Tyler was around Rachael’s age—early thirties—so he was going gray young. He looked good like that. The more formal dress and silvery hair added a touch of seriousness to his normally casual style. He looked the part of a bar manager now.

Donovan cleared his throat. “Is there anything you need from me this morning?”

“Oh.” Tyler shook his head. “Yes. I was wondering if we could sit down for a brief rundown of the plan for the morning. I’m not usually here for brunch service.”

Another meeting?Jesus, that was unnecessary, but Donovan had caught the faint tremble of nerves in Tyler’s voice, so he took pity on him. Better overprepared than underprepared.

“Sure. Just tell me when and where.”

“My office. And now, if that works for you.”

Donovan nodded and followed Tyler into his office. It was unremarkable. A couple of chairs and a desk that was devoid of anything but some paperwork neatly stacked on the surface. Huh. He’d have expected Tyler to be a messy guy, but no, everything was lined up perfectly. Oh, military service.That makes sense.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be back in a few.”

Donovan nodded and dropped into a chair. He’d finished an article about the catastrophic effects of the declining bee population by the time Tyler arrived with a tray. Tyler poured coffee from a French press into mugs and handed one to him. “Help yourself to sugar and cream.”

Donovan sipped the coffee first, surprised but pleased by the richness of the roast. Good beans, perfectly roasted and expertly brewed. Tyler had gotten the water temperature, brew time, and grounds-to-water ratio just right. There was no harsh acidity to it or weak and watery taste. Donovan added the tiniest bit of sugar and a small splash of cream, not wanting to detract too much from the enjoyment of the coffee itself.

He glanced up at Tyler, pleasantly surprised. “This is excellent. Thank you.”

Tyler flashed him a faint smile. “I may not be able to cook to save my life, but if it’s liquid, I’ve got it.”

Donovan chuckled though he was always mildly horrified by people who couldn’t cook. It was one thing to lack the time to do it—he understood people had busy, stressful lives and didn’t get the kind of joy he did from fussing in the kitchen for hours on end—but damn. He’d never understand the pride they seemed to have when they said that they couldn’t cook.

Donovan eyeballed the pastries as he set down his mug. “Are those from the bakery order?”

“Yes.”

“We’re not going to—”

Tyler held up a hand. “I added them onto the order. I didn’t take them from the ones you’d ordered for brunch.”

“Oh.” Chagrined, Donovan reached for a pecan roll. “I apologize.”

Tyler sighed. “I know you think I’m an idiot but—”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” Donovan admitted. “I’m just … I’m used to a rigid structure in a kitchen. I went to culinary school. They teach a very formal, very classical French style. It’s strict and hierarchical. I could spend at least three hours arguing why that’s a good thing and make at least a dozen points about why it isn’t the be all and end all of cooking, but I won’t subject you to that.”

“Thanks for that.” Tyler smirked as he took a sip of his coffee.

“I’m just saying this is hard for me,” Donovan admitted. “I don’t … I don’t answer to others well.”

Tyler gave him a skeptical look. “Because of culinary school?”

“Because of that and because I’m a Dom,” he said simply. “I see a power vacuum and I want to fill it.”

“There isn’t one here,” Tyler said. “I’ve got this.”

“I’m doing my best to trust that.”

Tyler sighed and pressed his thumb to a spot between his eye and his brow bone for a moment before he lifted his head to look Donovan in the eye. “I didn’t ask you to come in here so we could argue.”

“So I gathered.” Donovan gestured with his pecan roll. It was perfectly done, the dough rich and buttery, tender without being underdone. The glaze was rich and buttery too, sweet but not cloying. The pecans were toasted and there was just the faintest hint of real vanilla and a sprinkle of salt to keep it all balanced. “I do respond well to food bribery and Aimee Lucas’s pastries are sublime.”

Tyler snorted. “Glad I got something right. And I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”

“To business?” Donovan asked, gesturing toward Tyler’s notes on the desk.

Tyler nodded and cleared his throat. “So, I thought we’d start with discussing brunch.”

* * *

To Donovan’s surprise and pleasure, brunch service went well. They were busy with plenty of covers—diners—this morning but it was a good test run for how things would go tonight. Brunch was generally easier than dinner. The menu was a bit more limited, and most people chose the buffet.

There were omelet and waffle stations where people could have the chef customize their breakfast and Donovan enjoyed cooking in front of the diners, interacting with them as he flipped the omelets in the pan with a deft wrist flick that never failed to impress. It was first year culinary training stuff, but it did look impressive.

And his sous chef, Max, a nonbinary person who had quickly become his most trusted staff member in the kitchen, drew oohs and ahhs with the weekly special of flambéed Crêpes Suzette.

Donovan looked longingly at the crêpe turner as Max deftly folded the thin pancakes into fourths on the flat griddle. Donovan enjoyed crêpes, though he preferred them stuffed with ham, nutty Gruyere cheese, and chives or mushroom, goat cheese, and thyme. But the draw was more the wooden utensil than the food.

Generally about a foot or so long, crêpe turners were thin pieces of wood with flat rounded edges designed to slide under the thin pancakes and fold them, but they also made delightfully wicked paddles.

Donovan kept one in his kitchen for cooking purposes and another in his gear bag in the bedroom. It was loved by some submissives and absolutely loathed by others. It packed a hell of a wallop and a sting, if wielded correctly, and it had been ages since he’d used one.

Donovan caught a glimpse of Tyler across the room, speaking with some diners. He was in profile and Donovan felt that familiar itch in his fingers as he trailed his gaze across Tyler’s muscular backside. What he wouldn’t give to get Tyler all trussed up and helpless, then take the crêpe spatula to his firm ass and thighs. Donovan let out an audible sigh.

“Chef, your omelet,” Max hissed.

Donovan glanced down to see his hand was still and tossed the skillet to flip the omelet, scowling when he realized it had gone from lightly browned to something too close to burned. “Oh no. Let me start a new one for you, ma’am.” He made a move to toss it in the trash tucked beneath the table, but the woman in front of him laughed.

“Oh, I do that all the time myself. Looks good to me.”

“If you’re sure …”

“Absolutely.”

Donovan reluctantly reached for a warm plate beside him, then deftly flipped the omelet onto it. He garnished the food with a sprinkle of chopped herbs, then handed it over a little reluctantly. He didn’t like putting out anything less than perfection. And Tyler had distracted him.

Still, they were nearing the end of brunch service and the morning had gone off without a hitch. He’d give Tyler this; he was off to a good start.

* * *

“Where the hell are my servers?” Donovan bellowed. Plates were collecting on the pass and not getting taken out. Donovan had been working flat out but the servers were lagging, and his annoyance had been building all night as plates stacked up and complaints rolled in. He’d gritted his teeth for the past hour, but he’d reached his boiling point. The warming lights helped keep everything up to temp but they also dried the food out and toughened the meat and delicate seafood. Three meals had been sent back tonight and that was unacceptable. He had a reputation to maintain. His as a chef and the restaurant’s as a whole.

“Sorry, Chef,” Teri, one of the servers, said as she hustled toward him. She grabbed two plates, looking unusually frazzled. “We’re a little short-staffed tonight and it’s busier than usual out there. And with Kristin running late …”

Donovan narrowed his eyes. There had been an unusual number of covers tonight. Sunday nights were usually a time when people were either dining with family or getting ready for the week ahead, so the tavern typically had steady but not frantic business. Still, even with the increased volume, the servers should have been able to handle it. “Why?” he asked.

She stared at him wide-eyed. “Well, I mean the storm that went through earlier today knocked out power in half the town. I think a lot of people went out to eat.”

“Not the increase in covers. The— Never mind. Just get the food out there. I’ll worry about the rest.”

“Yes, Chef,” she said, grabbing plates and hustling off again.

Donovan didn’t know why he’d bothered to ask. He knew exactly why they were short-staffed. Tyler had failed to do his job. He’d been the one responsible for making the schedule for the week. While Kristin, the front of house manager, should have had input, Tyler had probably assumed he knew better and staffed leanly. Jesus, this was exactly why someone with no restaurant experience shouldn’t be running the show.

Donovan grumbled under his breath and returned his focus to the plating. He’d been doing it so long he could do it in his sleep. Some days, he felt like he was doing it in his sleep. But he could artfully arrange food on a plate and garnish it without his brain being too engaged. Still, he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

We wouldn’t be slammed like this if Tyler had just done his damn job, Donovan thought as he slipped the plate of rosemary turkey meatloaf onto the pass and grabbed the next ticket, calling out the order.

* * *

“What the hell was that?” Donovan roared as he stared down at Tyler after service ended.

He looked up from his desk. “What was what?”

“We were short two servers tonight,” he snarled. “We had way too many plates sent back because diners weren’t happy with it. You did a piss-poor job staffing tonight. I know Kristin knows how many people we need to have on hand, so I don’t know what in the hell you were thinking cutting it so short tonight but—”

“I didn’t cut anything short,” Tyler snapped, rising to his feet. “I didn’t have a choice. Sam had to go out of town for a funeral and won’t be back until Tuesday. Kayleigh has a tree down from the storm and can’t get out of her driveway. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“Call someone else to come in!”

“I tried!” Tyler listed off half a dozen names, giving reasons why none of them had been able to pick up shifts.

Donovan rubbed his head. “And you didn’t think to warn me about any of this?”

“I didn’t want to bother you. I was trying to handle it on my own.”

“Well thanks to that, you fucked over service tonight,” he snapped. “And then when I went to find you, you were nowhere to be found.”

“I was busting my ass filling in for the bartender who also couldn’t make it because of the storm. Jesus, Donovan, tonight was a fucking fluke. A lot of shit went wrong.”

“Yeah, well you know what the first rule of hospitality is?” he asked, stepping closer.

“What?”

“If something can go wrong, it will go wrong. And usually, it won’t happen on its own. Multiple things will go wrong. If you can’t handle—”

“I can handle it.” He stepped forward too, his chest brushing Donovan’s.

Tyler smelled incredible. As angry as Donovan was, the scent teased at his nostrils and distracted him from his rant. Donovan had never noticed it before, but even after a long shift of working, there was only the rich aroma of whatever cologne Tyler wore. Like warm cedar and leather with spicy hints of peppercorn, ginger, and tangerine.

Donovan’s mind ran wild with thoughts of a gorgeous cedar-smoked plank of salmon with a spicy citrus glaze, the recipe already beginning to form in his head even as he leaned in and took a deeper whiff. He abruptly realized how close they stood. How few inches were between their lips and how tempted he was to see if Tyler tasted as good as he smelled.

Because this wasn’t just about recipes or his food-focused brain liking the smell. It was the way the cologne mingled with Tyler’s own body chemistry and drove an even more primal urge. The urge to fuck.

Half of Donovan wanted to reach out and choke Tyler because he was so damn frustrated with him. The other half … well, it urged him to choke Tyler too but in a far more sexual way.

God, Donovan had never been like this. Never wanted someone he didn’t even like. Sure, he had a temper, but he’d never found himself so easily riled up by someone. So desperate to exert his authority. Tyler might be in charge here at the restaurant. Might be the one calling the shots right now. But Donovan was itching to turn the tables.

He stepped forward, watching with interest as Tyler took a step back. Then another. “You sure you didn’t do it on purpose?” Donovan asked.

“Do what?”

“Piss me off.”

Tyler scowled. “Me existing seems to piss you off.”

“There’s some truth to that,” Donovan admitted, pressing forward until he had Tyler trapped between him and the wall.

“Why do I get under your skin so much?”

“Because I fucking want you,” Donovan admitted with a little growl. “I don’t like you being in charge because I have so many damn things I’d like to do to you.”

Tyler wet his lips. “Like what?”

“Thought you weren’t interested,” he taunted.

Tyler narrowed his eyes. “Call me curious.”

Donovan shifted closer, allowing their bodies to touch full length. Tyler let out a little shudder.

“You’re curious, huh?” Donovan leaned in and braced his right hand against the wall, leaning more of his weight against Tyler’s chest. “Curious about what?”

Tyler’s gulp was audible. “What a guy like you could do to me,” he whispered.

Donovan’s own cock, already half-hard from the fight and proximity, thickened.

“What I’d do to you, huh?” Donovan drew in a short, sharp little breath. “I’d put one hand around your throat and the other on your cock. Make you completely helpless to do anything but take it.”

Tyler licked his lips. “Try it.”

Donovan’s cock jerked at the thought. He wasn’t sure it wasn’t a trap and that Tyler wouldn’t haul off and slug him for it.

Moving warily, Donovan took his left hand and settled it gently against Tyler’s throat. “You want this?”

“Yes.”

He squeezed a little, pushing his fingers so lightly Tyler would only feel the barest hint of pressure. He removed his hand from the wall and reached back, slipping his fingers into Tyler’s back pocket to fish out his wallet.

Tyler’s lips parted as if he was going to ask something, but Donovan shook his head as he pushed the leather square against Tyler’s palm. “You hold on to the billfold. You want this”—he gripped Tyler’s throat—“to stop, you drop it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Tyler’s breathing was ragged already, his eyes wide. Donovan had never looked at them this closely before, but they were pale, almost silvery gray with a dark ring around the pupil. Tyler dragged his tongue across his lips again, leaving a shiny trail of moisture behind.

“You want my hand on your throat? My fist wrapped around your cock?”

“Yeah.” Tyler’s voice turned hoarse.

Donovan slipped a hand between their bodies to find Tyler hard against his fly. It wasn’t easy to work open the button and zipper one-handed, but he did it, rubbing the length of Tyler’s cock. He was thick, weighty in Donovan’s hand. “You hate this, don’t you? You hate that I’m the one making you feel like this.”

Tyler nodded, a jerky little motion of his head. Donovan squeezed his fingers more. There was an art to breath play. Any idiot could grab hard and squeeze, but it was more likely to either make the person cough or, if you went too hard, crush their windpipe. No, the secret was in applying pressure to the sides where their carotid arteries were. It wasn’t about cutting off their breathing but restricting the blood flow to their brain.

Too long, you could kill a person. But properly done, it would cause a hell of a rush. A gorgeous light-headed feeling that made the whole world go dreamy. Donovan did it now, pushing in on the sides of Tyler’s throat. His eyes went wide but there was something in them, a fire, a desperation. And the way he thrust into Donovan’s hand told him he was very, very into this.

Donovan released his grip and brought his hand to his face, licking his palm. He returned it to Tyler’s cock, stroking. Tyler groaned.

“You like that?”

Tyler nodded. Donovan tightened his grip again and kept his gaze on Tyler’s face as he stroked harder, jerking his dick roughly. It had to hurt with little more than spit to slick it, but Tyler was leaking now, shivering against him. Donovan let up on his throat, just a little, then pressed back in, twisting his other hand tightly around the head of his cock. He increased pressure around Tyler’s neck, then just as he felt the little tremors of his approaching orgasm, he let up, allowing all the blood to flow back into his brain.

Tyler let go with a strangled groan, spurting into Donovan’s hand as he gasped, shaking, his forehead coming to rest on Donovan’s shoulder.

Donovan milked Tyler through the orgasm till he let out a rough groan and pushed his hand away, straightening. Donovan stepped back and looked him over, checking in.

Tyler let his head fall back against the wall, panting. “Jesus.” He sounded wrecked.

“Good Jesus?” Donovan was so fucking hard right now he could bludgeon someone to death with his dick, but a rush went through him too. The pleasure that always came with that kind of power over another person. For a few brief minutes, he’d held Tyler’s life in his hands, and Tyler had gotten off on that. That was powerful as hell. But Donovan had to be sure Tyler was okay with it now that it was over.

“Yeah.” Tyler shoved past him and tossed his wallet onto the desk. He reached for the nearby box of tissues and Donovan helped himself too.

“Hey, talk to me, Tyler.”

Tyler turned to look at him. “It was good, okay? I came harder than I have in a long time.”

Donovan frowned, concerned by his combative tone.

“Why is that hard for you to admit?” he asked, curious.

“Cause …” Tyler cleared his throat. “I mean, that was kinda new. It was hot but …” He rotated his head like he was trying to crack his neck. “Weird.”

“What is it? The fact that I’m a man or that I was in control of you. Or both?”

Tyler just glared. “The fact that it was you.”

Donovan chuckled as he tossed the wadded-up tissues in the trash. Okay, he could live with that. “I just got you off in about two minutes,” he pointed out.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“It doesn’t,” Donovan agreed. “You don’t have to like me at all, in fact. Doesn’t mean we have to stop either.”

Tyler gave him a skeptical look as he tossed his own dirty tissues away. “So what? We have a bunch of kinky hate sex whenever we get horny?”

“I’ve heard worse ideas.”

Tyler fastened his trousers. “Guess I have too. I still don’t know about this …”

“Why?”

“I’m just … we work here.”

“Hey, I’m not suggesting we keep doing this at the tavern,” Donovan said firmly. Tonight had been a risky and very hot moment but he had no intention of hooking up at work regularly. “All it would take was one person seeing us for it to end very badly for both of us, and this job is incredibly important to me.”

“Agreed. So where?”

“My place?”

“You here in town?”

“Yeah, the Bayview apartments. You know where they are?”

“Yeah, just north of here. They’re close.”

“Seems like a good choice to me then. Unless you’d rather go to yours?”

“No, your place is fine.” Tyler shifted a little, tucking his hands in his pockets. “But what about working together? Isn’t whatever we do going to make it awkward as hell?”

Donovan snorted. “It isn’t like we’ve had a seamless working relationship previously.”

“Yeah, okay, fair point.”

“We get on each other’s nerves. This seems like a good way to release that tension if you ask me.” Unorthodox? Maybe. But maybe orgasms would mellow them both out a little. And God, Donovan was dizzy with the need to feel the rush of being dominant again. It always sent him flying high and when he couldn’t indulge, he ached for it.

“Guess it’s worth a try.” Tyler turned away like he was going to leave.

“Don’t you need my address?” Donovan asked, half-amused, half-annoyed.

“What for?” Tyler turned back to him with a puzzled frown.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Donovan gestured to the front of his pants where his cock still strained against the fabric. “Maybe me getting off tonight.”

“Oh.” Tyler licked his lips. “You didn’t come?”

“Just from jerking you off, no.” Donovan’s tone was dry. “Look, I like choking a guy out and getting him off and all, but it’s not enough to make me come.”

“What is?”

“Come over to my place now. I’ll show you.”

* * *

“Nice place.” Tyler shifted back and forth on his heels.

Donovan glanced around. “It’s not bad.”

He had only chosen the place because it ticked all his boxes—namely having a kitchen with a gas stove and ample work surfaces—and its proximity to the restaurant. Which, admittedly, was handy tonight.

Tyler looked spooked though.

“You want to grab a shower before we get started?” Donovan offered.

Tyler swallowed. “That would probably be good.”

“I only have the one, so we can take turns. I’ll show you where it is.”

“Thanks.”

He gave Tyler a quick tour, then stepped out into the hall. “Call out if you need anything.”

“I will.”

While Tyler showered, Donovan turned on a few low lights in his bedroom, changed the sheets, then checked to make sure he was fully stocked on condoms and lube. He’d need to buy some soon but they should have enough for the night.

He shut the door and glanced up to see Tyler hovering in the doorway. “All set?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

He wore a towel wrapped around his waist and water glistened on his body. He was a work of art both from the time he clearly spent at the gym and the tattoos that covered both arms from his knuckles to his pecs. The ink showed off how flat and honed they were, and his shoulders and biceps were perfectly sculpted.

“I’ll grab my shower. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I have beer and wine. I don’t drink much liquor and I don’t play with drunk people, so keep that in mind.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You can take the edge off if you need to, but I want you in control.” Donovan let a firmness creep into his tone.

“Thought that was your game.”

“You need to be in control of yourself for me to control you.”

“Okay. Got it. One drink, max.”

“If you’re hungry, feel free to grab whatever you want to eat. We’ll be up for a while, and I won’t go easy on you. You’ll need your strength.”

Tyler’s gulp was visible in his throat. “Right. Okay. I have some questions though.”

“Of course.” Donovan smiled reassuringly and softened his tone. “I’ll be back shortly. I’ll answer them then, okay? I promise.”

“Sure.” But Tyler still looked a little spooked and a flicker of worry went through Donovan.

He showered as quickly as he could, scrubbing the restaurant smells from his skin and hair as fast as he was able, but he still expected to walk out of the bathroom to find Tyler gone.

Instead, Donovan found him in his living room, drinking a beer and eating leftover Chinese takeout.

So sue him. Donovan was a chef, but sometimes he was lazy and the new place just outside town was really good.

A quick glance at the food Tyler was inhaling told Donovan that was the Hunan beef, so he went into the kitchen to retrieve the lemon chicken and pork fried rice.

Juggling beer, chopsticks, and food, he took a seat on the couch adjacent to Tyler, then peeled open the carton of food. “Tell me what you like.”

Tyler looked up. “Like?”

“In the bedroom. You said you’re new to being on this side of things so tell me what you know you don’t like or wouldn’t even consider doing.”

“Well, no bodily fluids. Like … no peeing on me or anything.”

“Noted.”

“And I’m not dressing up in lingerie or anything. Just cause I’m gonna let you do shit to me doesn’t mean I want to dress like a woman.”

“I don’t want you to dress like a woman,” Donovan assured him. “Cross-dressing or forced feminization isn’t my kink.”

“Good.” Tyler ducked his head. “I think I told you about the woman I was seeing for a while, who wanted me to lick her boots while she called me a sissy. That just feels gross to me. I don’t want any of that.”

“You’re not into humiliation or degradation.”

“Right.”

“So what do you like?”

“I like it rough.” Tyler licked his lips.

“Do you like pain?”

“I don’t know. I think so? The choking was good. I liked it in the past when girlfriends used their nails or bit me. I like pain from a workout.” He stabbed at his food.

Oh yes, probably a pain slut.Well, Donovan could make that happen. Happily, in fact.

“Bondage?”

“I’ve been tied up a few times.”

“Have you ever been tied up and had pain inflicted on you?” Donovan chewed on a bite of chicken. Most places served it battered and deep fried but this place had an option to do it stir fried, just lightly velveted with cornstarch for that perfect tender bite and he always ordered it that way. The sauce was sharp and tangy with a mild sweetness underneath, pleasantly lemony but not bitter. And the peapods were just crisp enough to crunch under his teeth.

“Ahh no,” Tyler said. “No pain. She just blew me while I was tied up.”

“Did you like that?”

Tyler shrugged. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Some people don’t like feeling helpless.”

“Well, she weighed about one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet and we were using an old necktie. I was pretty sure I could get out of it if I needed to.”

“What if it was something you couldn’t get out of? What if it was with a man who was closer to your size and strength? What if you really were helpless?”

Tyler shivered, but Donovan didn’t think it was from the fact he wore nothing but a towel. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. We can go slow.”

“I don’t know that I want to go slow.” Tyler set his food down and reached for his beer. “I think if we do, I’ll chicken out.”

“You’ll be free to stop or slow down any time you’d like but I’ll go no faster than I’m comfortable with,” he said. “I won’t be goaded into something that’ll go sideways.”

Tyler nodded though he didn’t look enthusiastic about it.

“Safewords?”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” Tyler took another drink.

“No. You will pick one. It’s non-negotiable for me,” Donovan said firmly. “I’m asking what you want. Some people use the red-yellow-green stoplight and others pick a word.”

Tyler went silent a moment. “Eddie,” he finally said. “My safeword is Eddie.”

Eddie?Odd choice but fine, Donovan could work with it.

“Eddie it is. If I ever need to stop, I’ll use red.”

“You do that.”

Donovan stifled a sigh. Half of him enjoyed this antagonistic friction they had going, half of him found it exhausting. Why was Tyler so damn combative all the time?

“Anything I need to know in terms of your former Army service?” he asked. He set down the lemon chicken and reached for the pork fried rice. It was nicely savory without being oversalted and the fatty bits of pork were a contrast to the sweetness of the vegetables they used. The perfect blend of sweet, salt, and rich, flavorful umami taste.

Tyler raised an eyebrow at him. “Like what? Scars?”

“No, though that’s a valid question.”

“Wasn’t injured aside from a small scar on my arm,” he said. “And that’s a cigarette burn. A bunch of us were fucking around and this buddy of mine put his lit cigarette on the table between our arms. He was playing chicken, seeing who flinched first. It wasn’t me.”

And now you have a scar to prove how stupid you were, Donovan thought. Jesus, the macho posturing these guys went through killed him.

“I meant PTSD,” Donovan clarified. “For a while, I played with a guy who was a Marine. He had some very specific things he couldn’t do. No being tied up. No blindfolds. No sudden loud noises. We worked around it.”

Tyler shook his head. “Nothing like that. I didn’t really see any heavy combat during my tour. Tensions were easing while we were in Iraq, and it never got too bad while I was in Western Baghdad. There were a few dicey moments but for the most part I got lucky.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Yeah, me too.” Tyler let out a little laugh but there was a flicker of something in his expression that made Donovan wonder if people he knew hadn’t been so lucky.

Donovan ran through a mental checklist of other questions he had. “How do you feel about penetration?”

Tyler set down the bottle and Donovan noticed a slight tremor in his hand. Hmm. He was more nervous than he let on.

“Of me or you?”

“Of you,” Donovan clarified. “Tongue, fingers, toys, cock? Have any objections?”

Tyler rubbed the back of his neck. “Only really had a woman’s tongue and fingers so …”

“That doesn’t answer my question. If any of those are things you don’t want to try, we can take them off the list.”

“Everything’s on the table except for the humiliation shit we talked about,” Tyler said firmly. “Look I’m … it’ll be weird but I’ll give the, uh, penetration a try.”

Donovan raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure? You seem to have gone from zero to sixty pretty fast.”

Tyler let out a heavy sigh. “Look, that’s kinda how I’ve always done shit. If I’m going to try something, I’m going to go big. Little baby steps are worse. Rip off the bandage.”

“This is supposed to be fun,” Donovan pointed out. “I mean, yes, you said you want pain so maybe ripping off the bandage is appropriate, but …”

“My buddies and me, we had this motto. If it doesn’t scare the shit out of you, it isn’t worth doing.”

“Ahh. Okay.”

“If we only do a little bit, I’m gonna get spooked,” Tyler said, finally meeting Donovan’s gaze. “It’s just … I don’t work well that way. I know that about myself.” His tone was firm. “If we go slow, I’m gonna have time to freak out. I need you to make it happen and not give me a choice. Except to, you know, safeword out or whatever.”

Donovan respected that Tyler knew that about himself, so he nodded. “Okay. I understand that. I can work with that.”

Stomach sated, Donovan closed the lids on the containers and returned them to the refrigerator. Tyler had drained his bottle of beer but Donovan had barely drunk a third of his. That was fine. He needed a clear head tonight.

He remained standing and looked down at Tyler. “Okay, sexual health concerns?”

“Tests all came back good not too long ago and I haven’t been getting any lately anyway.”

“Same for me,” Donovan admitted. “We should be good. Condoms for anal?”

“Jesus Christ,” Tyler said. “Can we just get to the good stuff and not spend all night talking about it?”

“Condoms it is.” Donovan cracked his neck and held out a hand. “Come on, let’s go into the bedroom.”

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure he could trust Tyler was telling him everything he needed to know—as much as from ignorance and lack of experience as anything else—but he’d do his best.

As long as Tyler remembered his safeword, they should be fine.

Donovan hoped.