“Where are you?”
Master counters the question with one of his
own. “What if I said I can’t make it tonight?”
Discouragement floods Stefan—he wants arms
around him, kisses across his brow, someone else’s fingers in him
for once. Is that asking too much? “Why not?” he asks. It sounds
like an accusation but he doesn’t care. “I’m waiting—”
“Good boy,” Master says.
“What?” Stefan asks, confused. Then it
hits him and he has to ask, “Is this some sort of game to you?” The
thought angers him—what if this guy is laughing right now because
he got Stefan so worked up just waiting for him to show? “Don’t
fuck with me, Master.”
A lengthy silence stretches between them and
Stefan fights the urge to apologize. He listens to Master’s breath,
tries to imagine what might be going on behind those crystal clear
eyes. It seems like forever before Master finally speaks. “This is
not a game,” he says, and Stefan believes him. “It’s a test. I’ve