Breathe (His Command Book 5) Read online

  Breathe

  Piper Scott

  Breathe © Piper Scott 2018.

  Amazon Kindle Edition.

  Edited by Courtney Bassett.

  Cover design by Terram Horne.

  All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical reviews and articles.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The author has asserted his/her rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book.

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is suitable only for mature readers.

  First LoveLight Press electronic publication: January 2018

  http://lovelightpress.com

  Subscribe to Piper's newsletter to be the first to hear about new releases and gain access to free bonus content:

  http://eepurl.com/cw6BMD

  Breathe is set in the USA, and as such uses American English throughout.

  Contents

  1. Oli

  2. Marshall

  3. Oli

  4. Oli

  5. Marshall

  6. Oli

  7. Marshall

  8. Oli

  9. Marshall

  10. Oli

  11. Marshall

  12. Oli

  13. Marshall

  14. Oli

  15. Oli

  16. Marshall

  17. Oli

  18. Marshall

  19. Oli

  20. Marshall

  21. Oli

  22. Oli

  23. Marshall

  24. Oli

  25. Marshall

  26. Oli

  27. Marshall

  28. Oli

  29. Marshall

  30. Oli

  31. Marshall

  32. Oli

  Epilogue

  Bonus Scene

  About the Author

  Also by Piper Scott

  More from LoveLight Press

  1

  Oli

  Strip.

  One syllable. A single command. Oli bit down on his lip and stared at the word in the chat bubble. It hadn’t changed.

  Five letters. Countless tiny pixels on a screen. It shouldn’t have sent his heart racing, but it did.

  It did because Alcrest was the one saying it.

  The blankets he was nesting in were getting too hot, and he kicked them off. The bedroom was a struggle to heat—the room’s singular window was poorly insulated, and the top panel always came loose—but in a few, disarming words, Alcrest had flipped his switch and turned him into a furnace. Damn that man and his magical touch. It made Oli ache for him.

  Oli ran one hand down his stomach to his groin, then traced his palm over the erection straining the front of his boxer-briefs. Pressure that slight shouldn’t have been enough to make him moan, but a small, desperate sound escaped his lips anyway. It embarrassed him, and he pulled his hand away and opened his eyes to look back at the Kik conversation on his phone.

  I’m only wearing a t-shirt and boxer-briefs, Oli wrote.

  The reply came without delay.

  Show me.

  Hand trembling from want, Oli lifted his phone and tapped the camera button. He angled it just behind his shoulder in a way that kept his head out of the shot while showing off his full body. He tugged at his t-shirt, hoping to hide the band of skin between its bottom hem and the elastic of his boxer-briefs—not because he was shy, but because he wanted Alcrest to work for it. He tented his legs to show off his bare thighs and teased the fly of his underwear open the tiniest bit. Through the shadows cast by the fabric, a sliver of pale skin appeared just beyond his open fly. Oli knew how to play this game. Alcrest had taught him well.

  He snapped the picture and sent it before he could change his mind. Apprehensive, he watched the screen, waiting for the tiny D by the top left corner of the picture to change to an R.

  It changed.

  Alcrest started typing.

  Now that I’ve seen you, I’ve changed my mind. You will strip off your t-shirt, but you’ll keep your underwear on.

  Disappointment deflated Oli’s excitement, and he had to reread the message to double check he hadn’t misunderstood. His relationship with Alcrest had been less than innocent since almost the first day of their acquaintance, but Alcrest had never wanted him to stay clothed before.

  Was he getting bored of him?

  Why?

  You know the rules to our game, Oliver. You will do as I say.

  Oli closed his eyes and breathed out slowly through his nose. No one called him Oliver. No one. But when Alcrest said it? It set his soul on fire. Oli did as he was told and wiggled out of his t-shirt, then sent Alcrest a picture of his bare chest so he’d know he’d listened. For a second, there was nothing. Then, from nowhere, a new message appeared.

  Come.

  Oli’s lips parted to suck in a single, quivering breath. I need to take off my boxer-briefs.

  No. I want you to come inside of them.

  A thrill ran through his cock, making it twitch against the cotton it had been instructed to breed. Oli swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth and let his dominant hand roam down his body. His fingertips grazed his clothed shaft while he did his best to compose a message with his free hand. I need to touch myself. Please, let me touch myself.

  Three messages arrived in rapid succession.

  You will not touch skin to skin.

  Your cock will stay caged behind cotton.

  I want you to feel how dirty you get for me. Let it soak your shaft and drench your clothes. What a pretty sight you’ll be.

  Oli stifled a moan and let his imagination run wild. What would it be like for them to be together, Alcrest holding him from behind as he slid a hand down the front of Oli’s boxer-briefs and gripped his shaft? Alcrest would nibble the edge of his ear, and then in hot, breathy whispers say the beautiful things he knew would get Oli rock hard. He’d pump Oli’s cock, run his thumb over Oli’s swollen cockhead, and smear his precum down his shaft until it absorbed into his skin. And with each thrust, each slow, teasing thrust, Oli would beg for his body—beg to be folded over the arm of the couch, or propped up against the counter, or thrown across the desk, so he could be bred.

  He worked his hips, pressing his shaft between his fingers for friction as his arousal reached a fevered pitch. Alcrest was the one teasing him like this—stealing the contact he deserved and staying his hand. The thin layer of fabric between his palm and his cock was a curse, but the lust that flowed in Oli’s veins? The goosebumps down his arms, and the low throbbing need in his groin? That was Alcrest’s gift. What pleasure Oli found would be hard earned, and it would be awarded to him by the man who was now in control of his body.

  Oli’s phone buzzed. Bleary-eyed, he looked down at the screen.

  You’re too busy touching yourself to talk to me, aren’t you? Alcrest asked.

  A moan died in the back of Oli’s throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut as a new wave of pleasure washed through him. He knew. He always knew. In the three months since they’d met, Alcrest had learned his ins and outs. He understood, and that was a rare quality Oli didn’t find in many men, let alone many alphas.

  He gripped himself and tugged despite the constraints of his boxer-briefs. Orgasm loomed not all that far away, dark clouds on the horizon p
romising rain after a season of drought. He stretched his thumb over the screen of his phone to try to compose a reply, but the attempt was futile. The fleshy base of his thumb pressed against the side of the screen and blocked him from typing anything.

  Another buzz.

  When you come, Oliver, I want you to think of me.

  Another.

  My hand caressing you. My lips on yours, always teasing, but never giving you the kiss you want. My cock in the valley of your ass, pushing against your tight hole until your body gives up the fight and lets me in where I belong.

  Buzz.

  I want you to beg for my knot.

  There was no holding back his moan this time. Oli dropped his phone and rolled over to bury his face in his pillows. Alcrest’s cock was in his ass, pounding his prostate until he was senseless and babbling. One strong hand pinned Oli to the bed, and the other worked Oli’s length at a frantic pace that didn’t leave him any time to catch his breath. Oli would let him own his body, if only it meant he could feel Alcrest’s knot stretch him. He’d do whatever it took, even if it meant he had to embarrass himself.

  “Please,” Oli choked into the pillows. His hips rocked into the mattress, and he gripped himself as best he could through his boxer-briefs, but his hand wasn’t enough. With a frustrated cry, Oli tore his hand away from his body and resorted to humping his sheets. The pressure was building to delirious levels, and he needed to come to get it out. “Please, knot me. I need you, Alcrest. I need your knot. I need it.”

  Rapture arrived. Oli shoved his face into his pillow and cried out so loudly that his lungs rattled. Warm, wet ejaculate spread and smeared across the fly of his boxer-briefs. It soaked into the cotton.

  He couldn’t stop coming.

  When clarity returned at last, Oli rolled onto his back and covered his face with his hands. His phone nudged his hip. It didn’t vibrate anymore.

  “Goddammit,” Oli uttered when he had the breath to do so. His chest rose and fell in rapid succession, his lungs working overtime to feed his recently worked muscles. “I’m a dirty slut, aren’t I?”

  With an unceremonious plop, his arms fell to either side of his body and came to rest among the sheets. He snaked his hand down his side and picked up his phone. Arm trembling, he lifted the device, activated the camera, and took a glamour shot of his cum-glossed boxer-briefs. The picture was delivered, then marked as read. A reply came a second later.

  Good boy, Oliver.

  Why are you always so hot? Oliver asked. He held his phone over his head lazily, half-expecting his grip to give out and send the phone plummeting down to smack him in the face. It wouldn’t have been the first time it happened. You must be the goddamn sexiest man alive, making me come from words alone. When do I get to see your picture?

  Attraction is as cerebral as it is physical.

  A non-answer. Of course. Alcrest always dodged answering anything about his real life. Oli didn’t even know his real name. Either he was a movie star determined to keep his identity a secret—Oli’s preferred fantasy—or he was old and gross. Or maybe married. Old and gross didn’t bother Oli all that much, but married? That was something he couldn’t tolerate, and he hoped against hope that it wasn’t the case.

  Whatever it was, Alcrest was hiding something, and it bothered Oli that he didn’t know what it was.

  Thanks for keeping me company tonight, Oli wrote. He set the phone on his chest momentarily, then wormed out of his boxer-briefs and tossed them into the laundry basket. They snagged the side and hung precariously, but the shot landed well enough that Oli settled back in bed and wrapped himself up in his blankets. He tucked his head beneath them and let his phone light up the tiny Oli-sized cavern he’d created. You always make me feel better, even when shit goes down.

  What happened to upset you today?

  Oh. I didn’t mean to vaguebook. I’m sorry. Oli frowned. He didn’t want to bog Alcrest down with his struggles. Seeking out men online to chat and flirt with was supposed to be a distraction from his miserable life, not an outlet to explore his misery further. Just, you know, millennial stuff. Life’s too expensive and nowhere is hiring. Might as well go live in a swamp. I hear that it was supposed to be drained, but you know, I’m not so sure that happened, so I’m thinking there’s prime real estate there. Once I get used to feeling slimy, it probably shouldn’t be too bad.

  Alcrest started and stopped typing several times. At last, a reply appeared. You marvel at how I make you feel better, but I think the true magic here is how you never fail to make me laugh.

  Oli’s lips twitched into a momentary smile. Some people do say I’m funny and mean it unironically.

  You are.

  And you, sir, are the most charming pervert to ever ask a boy for pictures of his naked body. Oli shifted his arms and pulled the blankets a little closer. The smile that had curled his lips moments before returned in earnest, and a quiet, warm feeling spread through his chest that made him feel like his failure of a day wasn’t all that bad after all. When can I meet you?

  Soon, Alcrest replied. It was always the same. Oli was under the impression that soon meant never, and Alcrest seemed to be in no hurry to prove him wrong. Are you going to sleep now, Oliver?

  Yeah. Another big day of slogging through job postings tomorrow. I’m going to shower, then hit the sack.

  You’ll find something soon.

  The encouragement was appreciated, but Oli didn’t take it to heart. He’d been unemployed for close to two years now, getting by on temp work that never turned into long-term positions. But living paycheck to paycheck in a rundown apartment smack-dab in the heart of the bad part of town was getting old, and worrying about whether he was going to be able to scrounge enough money together to keep the lights on this month was getting even older.

  Thanks, he replied. Do you want me to message you when I’m out of the shower? We can fall asleep together.

  I’ll be up a while longer tonight. You sleep. Goodnight, Oliver.

  Goodnight.

  Oli tabbed out of their conversation and turned off the screen of his phone, but lay in bed holding it to his chest a while longer as the warmth behind his breastbone ebbed away. When the feeling had been reduced to nothing more than pinpricks, he decided it was time to get going. Orgasm-weakened legs saw him out of bed, and he tossed his phone amongst the sheets so he’d remember where it was when he came back from his shower to sleep. He took a few steps before doubt gripped him, and he turned right away and scooped his phone up again.

  If Alcrest messaged him when he was in the shower, he’d want to reply as soon as he could. He didn’t want Alcrest to think he was ignoring him.

  Maybe something funny would happen that’d prompt him to message Oli out of the blue, even though they’d said goodnight. Or maybe he’d get invited to an event and need a plus one. Or maybe…

  Oli shook his head.

  Or maybe you need to learn how to get a grip, he mentally scolded himself. You’ve never seen his picture, you don’t know what his name is, and there’s every chance in the world that he’s catfishing you.

  But Oli brought his phone to the bathroom with him anyway, just in case. And that night, when he fell asleep, he did so with his phone clutched loosely in his hand, just like he had every night for the last three months.

  If Alcrest was a catfish, Oli had fallen for him hook, line, and sinker.

  2

  Marshall

  Marshall set the phone down, pressed the oxygen mask to his face, and smiled. With a deep, inward breath he filled his aching lungs. The urge to pant and gasp niggled at the back of his mind, but he resisted. It never got him anywhere.

  The exertion was worth it for Oliver.

  Marshall’s smile grew. The oxygen flowed, and as it did, he pressed himself against the back of the couch and breathed. Affection, heavy and intense, kept him from wanting to move.

  Oliver.

  The very thought of him was enough to better Marshall’s mood.
r />   His hand found its way to the bulge distending the front of his pants, and he palmed himself as he recalled the last picture Oliver had sent him that evening. Black boxer-briefs, a spot on the front of them glistening with cum that had soaked its way through the fabric. There was power in knowing that he’d been the one to cause such great pleasure, but better yet was knowing that Oliver had done it to himself only because Marshall had asked. He’d traded his dignity for pleasure and his cleanliness for the promise that Marshall knew best. As long as he lived, Marshall wouldn’t forget the thrill that knowledge gave him. He thought he’d never feel anything half as exciting again. But then again, a quarter of a year ago, he’d thought he’d be content to see out the rest of his days alone.

  There was something delightful about Oliver—a sarcastic, scathing kind of light that illuminated the darkness of his depression and did away with it, even if only momentarily. Like the embers of a fire, the memories of their conversation drew Marshall in and kept him warm.

  And sometimes, like tonight, those embers burned red-hot.

  Oliver.

  Flighty, awkward, and hilarious. From the first message he’d sent on the dating site they’d met on to the easy more-than-friendship they now shared, Marshall knew there was something different about him. It wasn’t only in the way he presented himself—it was in the man Marshall saw behind the messages.

  Genuine. Caring. Downtrodden.