The cruelest chains are the ones you carry inside yourself.
It was days before he came again.
Micah's hands shook when the knock came.
He knew it was Roman, but he wasn't ready. Not really.
The ache between his legs was a dull roar now—raw, constant. It had been days since Roman had left him that night, hard and leaking, abandoned to his own desperate hands.
He hadn't touched himself since.
Not once.
He couldn't.
Roman's rules were clear.
No touching without permission.
Micah swallowed the growing frustration with every fiber of his body. The nights were the hardest. The fantasies worse. The memory of Roman's mouth on him burned like a brand he couldn't wash away.
The door opened.
Roman stepped in, dark eyes unreadable, lips tight with something close to amusement.
"Good," he said.
Micah's throat closed.
Roman moved without hurry, close the distance, hand trailing down Micah's bare chest, cool fingers tracing along his ribs, over the ache that throbbed beneath his skin.
"No begging," Roman said softly. "Not yet."
Micah nodded.
Roman pushed him gently back onto the bed. The sheets were cool against his heated skin. Roman's hand moved lower, fingertips brushing just over his hipbone.
"You've been good," Roman said.
Micah tried to believe it. Tried to hold onto the flicker of pride beneath the shame and need.
Roman's lips captured his neck then, soft at first, a contrast to the storm building inside Micah.
Roman sucked, bit, kissed, pulling moans from Micah's throat that he'd tried to bury for days.
Then Roman pulled back and whispered, "But good boys still have limits."
He reached between Micah's legs—his fingers closing around the shaft that pulsed beneath his touch.
Roman didn't stroke.
He held.
Pressed.
Teased.
Until Micah was trembling, hips rising off the mattress like he couldn't help it.
"Not yet," Roman said again.
Micah gasped—more from desperation than pain.
Roman's thumb circled the tip slow, deliberate—then stopped.
"Why are you so easy to break?" Roman whispered, voice low and dark.
Micah couldn't answer.
He didn't want to.
Roman's mouth was suddenly on him, devouring, dragging his tongue over every sensitive inch.
It was everything.
It was nothing.
Roman pulled away just as Micah was about to lose control.
"No," Roman said, voice cold.
Micah opened his eyes wide, pleading.
Roman only smiled.
"You came for me before," he said. "Now I decide when you come. Not you."
Micah bit his lip, hands gripping the sheets until his knuckles were white.
Roman's teeth grazed his neck, tracing a line down to his collarbone.
"Beg," Roman said softly.
Micah shook his head...no words came.
Roman's hand tightened slightly, the faintest pressure.
"Beg," he repeated.
Micah's breath hitched.
"Please," he whispered.
Roman pulled back, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"That's better."
He bent low again, mouth covering Micah's cock—slow, patient, cruelly sweet.
Micah cried out, lost in the sensation.
Roman's hand slipped beneath him, curling inside, drawing moans, pulling whimpers.
Roman stopped.
Pulled away.
Left Micah panting, aching, undone.
Roman straightened, buttoning his cuffs.
"You're learning."
And just like that, he was gone.
Micah lay back, empty and desperate, knowing the wait was just beginning.