Opening Up Read online

  Contents

  Also by Robin Moray

  About

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  About the Author

  OPENING UP

  His Boy Next Door 34

  By R.J. Moray

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright ©2019 Robin Moray

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  First Electronic Edition

  Also by Robin Moray

  (Up-to-date listing at robinmoray.com)

  Bonded to the Alpha series

  Bonded to the Alpha

  Loyal

  Claimed

  Mated

  Mallory Witches series

  Something Wicked

  The Omega Colony series

  Changed: Mated to the Alien Alpha

  As R.J. Moray

  Novellas

  Finding Elliott

  Serials

  His Boy Next Door

  (Channon Beaumont series)

  Season One

  Season Two

  Season Three

  A Collar For His Brat

  (Ewan McKinney series)

  About His Boy Next Door 34 : Opening Up

  While Jack recovers from his accident, Channon can't stop worrying about his Sir. Jack's too stubborn to take this lying down, and Channon doesn't want to be the one to stand up to him. Every submissive bone in his body tells him to let Jack have his way, but sometimes you have to be tough on the ones you love, and Channon loves Jack more than anything.

  This book is episode 34 in an ongoing serial, and contains acts of an adult and sexual nature. Read at your own risk.

  Chapter One

  “Mom,” Jack said, feeling decades of exasperation billow up fresh, “I’m going to be fine. They let me go, didn’t they?”

  His mom gave him a Look. “They let you go home for bed rest, not conference calls and international flights and corporate takeovers.”

  Her view of what he did made him smile—it wasn’t entirely inaccurate, after all. “I promise I won’t fly anywhere until I get signed off. And I’ll take it easy on the corporate takeovers.”

  She ignored him, walking past him into the bedroom he shared with Channon and frowning at it. “Honey, it’s too dark in here.”

  “I like it dark in here.”

  “How do you wake up in the morning?”

  “I have an alarm.”

  “That’s not good for you,” she said, opening the curtains. “Look at that view! How can you waste it?”

  “That’s a good question,” Jack agreed.

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of red. Ah! A pair of lace panties caught under the dresser. Channon’s, of course, discarded in a moment of distracted passion. Jack discreetly tucked them all the way under with one foot while his mom was fussing with the drapes.

  “How long are you staying?” he asked, sinking onto the bed.

  There, that Look again. “Tomorrow. Once you’re settled in.”

  Which meant she was staying the night, and Jack wouldn’t get Channon all to himself the way he’d wanted.

  He stifled a sigh and forced a smile instead. “Thanks for coming. You didn’t have to.”

  “Of course I did. You’re still the baby, no matter how big you get.” She patted him on the cheek. She smelled of attar of roses, a scent from his childhood that made him homesick in a way he rarely felt, and it shocked him. His mom, who came to him in the hospital and saw him home to make sure he was okay. Could he really turn that down?

  “Thank you,” he said again, meaning it this time. “I’ll try not to overdo it.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she said. “Channon will have to keep you in line.”

  Jack grinned. “I’m sure he will.”

  Her smile turned cheeky. “If you don’t listen to him, maybe he’ll have to handcuff you to the bed.”

  For a second, Jack thought she knew. But then his brain rolled back into gear, and he realized she was joking. “I don’t think Channon owns any handcuffs,” he said, feeling a little light headed.

  “Then maybe I’ll have to buy him some.”

  The idea of it made him laugh. Instantly, his head felt like it was full of glitter, a burst of pain and dizziness spilling into him. He squeezed his eyes shut, covering them with his palm but it didn’t help much, just isolated him in a glittery, spinning darkness.

  “Jonathon?”

  He refused to be sick. It was undignified. It was unnecessary. He was going to be fine.

  “I think you’d better lie down,” his mom said, and there was a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back into the pillows. He allowed it, because there was little else he could do.

  He heard her move away, her footfalls on the stairs. More footsteps, and then— “Jack?”

  Jack opened his eyes, squinting into the light. He groaned and covered them with his hand. “It’s too bright.”

  There was a rustle and the light dimmed. Then the mattress sunk by his side, and Jack opened his eyes to see Channon looking worried and pale. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Jack said. Was it a lie? Not quite. He wanted it to be true, and it would be, soon. “I’m just a bit fragile right now.”

  Channon nodded, his fingers twisting in the cloth of Jack’s sleeve. He was so solemnly serious it made Jack’s chest ache, and Jack reached up to touch his cheek.

  “Hey. Sweetheart. I really will be fine. Especially with you taking care of me.” God, he hoped that was true.

  Channon nodded again, his smile obviously forced. “I will take care of you. I promise.”

  “That’s good. You’re all I need.”

  This wouldn’t take long, Jack thought. It couldn’t. He needed to get over it and back to work, to take charge of his life. Such a stupid thing, to be so stupidly injured. It couldn’t be allowed to get the better of him. He was stronger than this, surely.

  And until he was well, he’d try not to lean on Channon too hard. This wasn’t Channon’s fault, and Channon shouldn’t have to shoulder the burden of it.

  So. “I’ll be all right. Go make my mom some tea, okay? Heat something up for dinner?”

  Channon hesitated, but he stood up obediently. “I’ll check in on you. Just rest, okay?”

  “Sure, sweetheart.”

  He could hardly do anything else. Right now, he was at Channon’s mercy. And that was a feeling he didn’t like at all.

  ❧

  “He’s going to be difficult.”

  “I don’t mind.” Channon set out cups next to the kettle and tried to look like he was coping just fine. He found one of Jack’s decaffeinated evening teas, put bags in the cups, and leaned on the counter as he waited for the kettle to boil.

  Jack’s mom sighed and pushed him gently
out of the way. “Go sit. I’ll take care of it.”

  “I should—” Channon protested, but she just shooed him into a chair and then bustled around the kitchen like she owned it.

  “Do you like eggs, Channon?”

  “Yes, Mrs Nash?”

  “I’ll make omelets, then.”

  “You don’t have to,” Channon said. “I was going to heat something up.”

  “Jonathan likes omelets,” she said, already pulling things out of the fridge.

  Channon let her, too overwhelmed to really argue. It had been a long few days at the hospital while Jack got every test under the sun, and now they figured he was mostly fine. Some bruising, a few minor lacerations. And the head injury.

  That was the one that frightened Channon the most. Jack had been dizzy and disoriented, and kept getting these headaches Channon didn’t know how to fix. He’d got all this advice from the hospital and tried to remember all of it, bringing home pamphlets and paperwork now stacked on the dining table. He spread it out, going over the instructions again: no bright lights, no screens, no lifting, no running, no sex…

  God, he’d felt like he was dying when they’d told him that. The doctor hadn’t lingered on the subject, briskly professional, but Channon had been unable to look her in the eye. No sex. For a month. And then nothing ‘athletic’ or ‘strenuous’. Channon couldn’t imagine what that left on the table, but he knew what it didn’t. Pretty much everything.

  “He’s not good at being ill,” Mrs Nash said, far too lightly for Channon’s mood. “He’s never been able to sit still for long. Even when he was a boy. Christopher was happy enough to lie in bed and listen to the radio, but John couldn’t stand it. He’d try to read, or play one of his games, and wear himself out. He’ll make himself sick again if you let him.”

  Channon swallowed, looking up at her wide, dependable shoulders and the knitted wrap stretched across them. “I don’t let Jack do things. He just does them.”

  “Don’t let him walk all over you,” Mrs Nash admonished. She did it kindly enough, but Channon couldn’t help feeling it like a criticism. “He’s headstrong. If you give him an inch, he’ll take a mile. He likes being the one in charge.”

  Channon said nothing, just listened, unable to think of anything worth saying.

  “Sometimes I think all the success has been bad for him. Oh, I’m happy about the money, I suppose. And the business makes him happy. But he works too hard and he never takes any time out for himself. You can’t like it, being cooped up here all year round. What’s the point of all that money if he won’t spend it on himself? Take the two of you to the Bahamas, or Rome.”

  “We went to Paris,” Channon said, tentative. “For our anniversary.”

  He felt like he was defending Jack but also…well, Jack should relax more. Not just play with Channon, at the Club and such. Something else. Something fun.

  Something normal, Channon thought, something so he could tell Jack’s mom that Jack was taking care of himself, and Channon was taking care of him too.

  “Oh, yes, he said. And how did you like Paris?” Mrs Nash asked.

  “It had, um, good architecture. I took a bunch of photos, but they didn’t really turn out that great.”

  “That’s the tourist experience,” she agreed, smiling at him. “Do you think you’ll go again?”

  Channon hadn’t considered it before. “I think,” he said slowly, “I’d like to go someplace else first. Like maybe Osaka.” Because Jack had said they might go in the spring, to visit his friend. Channon would probably end up dangling from a net of rope in front of strangers, but that was okay. He wanted to go to Tokyo, see Akihabara and Harajuku, buy some T-shirts with random English on them. “Or the Maldives,” he added, because Dana had sent him a photo of a cabin in the sea, just on legs out in the water, and Channon had fallen in love with it at once.

  “That’s wonderful. I’m sure Jonathan would love to take you, if you drop enough hints. You know,” she said, bringing him a plate of omelet folded over what looked like bacon and tomato. “Leave a magazine out open to the page and then just mention it until he gets the idea.”

  “I think I could probably just ask,” Channon said, feeling like it was the only way to end up not getting his ass tanned. Anyway, like anyone bought magazines anymore.

  Mrs Nash chuckled. “Well, if that works, you’ve got him well trained.”

  She took a plate and some tea up to Jack, while Channon chewed on what she’d said. It felt strange to think that he’d trained Jack when it was obviously the other way around. It stuck in his head, something about it that didn’t make sense.

  When Mrs Nash came down again, she sat across from him to eat her dinner. “I suppose you’ve got your own ways of getting John to do what you want,” she said. “I was never very good at it, so I wish you better luck.”

  “I don’t really get him to do things,” Channon said—again. Hadn’t they just been over this? “It’s not like that.”

  “Mmm, I imagine. Jessica said much the same thing.” Mrs Nash didn’t seem to notice Channon stiffen, just took a sip of her tea. “Such a stubborn boy he was, and I imagine just as stubborn now he’s grown into it. You have to be clever with men,” she added, and Channon felt something shudder down his spine because, oh God, it made so much sense. “They want their own way and they’re not good at giving it up. You have to trick them into thinking it was their idea in the first place.”

  The way she said it. Channon chewed his mouthful slowly, unable to respond aloud.

  She thought he was the girl. She thought there was a girl, like it had to be the same as every heterosexual relationship in every book or movie or marriage joke ever: the man had to be coddled and tricked into things the woman wanted, to spare his pride. It was so clear it made Channon’s head hurt, because he and Jack had talked about this before, about how people perceived heteronormativity, about how they applied it to non-normative relationships. And if Jack was the man, that made Channon the obvious other choice.

  We’re not like that, Channon thought. Because they weren’t. Channon was supposed to be honest with Jack, and Jack would be honest with him. If Jack wanted to tan his ass, Jack would. If Channon needed him to, Jack would do it then, too. And the rest of the time? It wasn’t like that. Channon never had to deceive Jack about something to get his way—he just had to ask and, if it was reasonable, Jack would say 'yes'. He’d never said 'no' before now, not to something like a holiday or going out to dinner. Maybe because Channon didn’t ask often. The point was that Jack was Channon’s Sir, and he was in charge. But he wasn’t a tyrant.

  “It isn’t like that,” Channon said weakly. “We don’t…do that.”

  The look she turned on him was pitying, as if he wasn’t living up to his full potential. “Well, honey, you might have to start. He’s going to be cranky, cooped up in the house. If you want him to make the best recovery he can you’re going to have to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself by taking on too much, or over-exerting himself. He’ll try to go back to work too soon, or lift too many weights, and it’ll only make it harder for him to recover. So, when he doesn’t respond to logic, you’ll have to use cunning. Like a Slytherin,” she added, beaming at him.

  “You know about Harry Potter?” Channon asked, surprised.

  Mrs Nash gave him a sidelong look. “Witches and wizards and dragons? Of course! Who did you think got the boys into The Lord of the Rings?”

  ❧

  In the morning, Channon watched Jack hug his mom goodbye before Channon drove her to the airport. Mr Nash was picking her up at the other end. “I get to enjoy business class on my own,” she said, winking at Channon over the latte he’d bought her.

  “Uh, please give Mr Nash my regards,” Channon said, as politely as he could manage.

  Mrs Nash shook her head. “We’re coming up to your second Thanksgiving, honey. You’d better start calling us Mom and Dad.”

  Channon laughed, too nervous to do anything else. �
��I can’t do that.”

  “You will if I tell you to,” she insisted. Then she fixed him with a level look. “Remember what I said. You have to be firm with my son. He’s going to be impossible, but you’re the boss now, Channon. Let me hear you say it.”

  “I’m the boss now,” Channon said dutifully, because Jack might look like his father, but when it came to determination, he was definitely his mother’s son. “Thanks for everything, Mrs Nash. Hopefully we can come up for Thanksgiving.”

  “Or we can come down,” she said firmly. “Don’t you try driving fifteen hours by yourself just to eat turkey.”

  “I’m really coming for the mac and cheese,” Channon said, smiling for her because she was kind and deserved it.

  Once she’d boarded the plane, however, Channon felt the low-grade anxiety that seemed to live behind his ribs creep up on him again. He drove extra carefully on the way home, checking his mirrors obsessively, and it didn’t go away, not even once he’d stepped out of the elevator into Jack’s penthouse apartment.

  He found Jack lying on the sofa with the privacy glass fogged and the lights down low, the TV off and the speakers playing The War of the Worlds.

  “Radio plays are old tech,” Channon said, dropping down on his knees beside the sofa. “Now there’s these things called ‘podcasts’.”

  “Tell me of these things you call podcasts,” Jack murmured, reaching for him without moving the sleep mask covering his eyes. “Sell me on one.”

  “You’ve got Wolf 359, if you want weird space mystery. Or Welcome to Night Vale, if you want weird surreal middle America. Um. With gay stuff.”

  “Give me gay stuff,” Jack said, running his fingers up Channon’s spine before letting him go. “And tea.”

  Demanding. But it was the kind of demanding Channon could deal with. “Yes, Sir,” he said, bending down to kiss Jack’s cheek. “Whatever you say.”

  They’d be okay. Jack could tell Channon to do whatever he wanted, and Channon would take care of it. Jack was going to get better and nothing would change. They were going to be fine, he told himself, and by the time the kettle had boiled he almost believed it.