Firm Hand Page 5

  Before Rhys could say anything, she hung up on him, and he closed off his phone with an angry gesture. Few people infuriated him as much as his mom at times. He loved her, but he’d always been more drawn to his more introverted dad, a man who had been a solid rock for him for as long as he could remember.

  He’d been gentle, kind, a man who loved hugging and touching. Rhys remembered endless nights of watching movies on the couch as a kid, plastered against his dad. Stability, that’s what he had been. A safe space of endless love and acceptance, no matter what Rhys had struggled with.

  He’d told him his big secret only months before his death, begging him not to tell Cornell, and he hadn’t. His dad hadn’t liked it, but he’d made it clear that his loyalty to Rhys surpassed his loyalty to Cornell, and if that didn’t say everything Rhys needed to know about how much his dad had loved him, he didn’t know what did. And he’d been proud of him, so endlessly proud.

  “God, I miss you, Dad,” he whispered, and then it was his turn to fall apart, sobbing quietly into the cushions of the couch to muffle the sounds until he once again ran out of tears.

  When his tears had run dry, he took a few minutes to compose himself, splashing some cold water on his face. There was no denying he’d cried, but then again, he didn’t feel the need to hide that from Cornell. He was not ashamed of his emotions, especially of his grief and sadness.

  It was at least two hours later when Cornell came stumbling out of his bedroom, looking adorable, even if his eyes were still red and swollen from his crying fit.

  “I fell asleep,” he said, looking apologetic.

  “That’s okay,” Rhys told him. “You needed it, apparently.”

  He wanted to ask so badly if Cornell was okay, wanted to soothe his pain more than anything, but it was too much, too soon. But there was something he could do.

  “You look like you could use a shave,” he said.

  Cornell sighed. “Yeah. It’s hard with my shoulder, because the precise movements make me tense up and it hurts. In the rehabilitation center, I had an aide help me.”

  There was his in. “I’d be happy to help you.”

  Cornell stilled. “You’d help me shave?”

  The man had no idea of the things Rhys wanted to help him with. “It would be my pleasure.”

  He bit his lip for a few seconds, clearly thinking about it. “Okay,” he said finally, and Rhys’s heart did a little jump.

  “Come with me,” he said, smiling when Cornell immediately obeyed and trudged after him into the room Rhys was using as his bedroom. He installed him on a chair, then got the shaving kit from Cornell’s room.

  “You do know how to use this, right?” Cornell said, eyeing Rhys a little suspiciously. “Because shaving yourself is different than shaving someone else.”

  Rhys grinned. Cornell had no idea how much experience he had with sharp objects—not that he was about to tell him that. “I promise I won’t cut you.”

  Cornell didn’t look entirely convinced, but he allowed Rhys to start wetting his cheeks and covering his chin with shaving foam. “You can close your eyes if that’s easier,” Rhys told him, but Cornell’s clear blue eyes stayed focused on him as he stepped in with the razor in his hand.

  It was strangely intimate, shaving someone else. Rhys had worked summer jobs in a nursing home and as such, had plenty of experience with shaving others, but none of his patients had ever looked at him as intensely as Cornell did. With slow, confident moves he started scraping off the foam.

  “Put your head against my stomach,” he told Cornell as he took position behind him.

  Cornell let his head sink back, resting it against Rhys’s body. How crazy that such a simple gesture had such an impact on him, Rhys mused as he steadily worked on Cornell’s face. The way Cornell had submitted to his care… It shouldn’t mean as much as it did, feeling that surrender in his body, that trust. God, he longed so much to touch him, much more than this simple act.

  They were both silent as Rhys shaved him, but Cornell’s eyes never left his face. When he was done, he wiped Cornell’s chin off with a warm towel. He finished by rubbing on some calming shaving balm he always used himself. There was something strangely arousing about making sure Cornell would smell like him. “There,” he said. “Handsome as ever.”

  Cornell slowly sat up, touching his chin as if to double check Rhys hadn’t nicked him. “I’m way past handsome, but thank you. This feels good.”

  Rhys bit his tongue to avoid blurting out how handsome he thought Cornell was. Instead, he gave Cornell a quick rub through his hair, because he couldn’t resist it. “You’re welcome.”

  5

  After the shave, Cornell installed himself on the couch, watching Netflix. He kept rubbing his chin, loving how clean and smooth it felt. He smelled of Rhys, he thought, and wasn’t that a strange realization, that he knew what Rhys smelled like. It was so quintessentially him, that slightly spicy, subtle scent that Cornell now knew came from his shaving balm. He liked it, he decided, and he kept breathing it in the rest of the day, comforted on a level he couldn’t even explain.

  He spent the rest of the day doing nothing but lounging and doing his exercises in between. It was amazing how tired he could get from that, but remembering Rhys’s earlier advice to not fight his body, he gave in and went to bed early.

  He was getting dressed the next day when Rhys knocked on his door. “Come in,” he called out before realizing he was wearing only boxer briefs.

  Oh well, it wasn’t like Rhys hadn’t seen him in those before. Besides, the guy was a physical therapist. He constantly saw people half-dressed. And it wasn’t like Cornell’s aging and battered body had any chance of evoking a reaction in Rhys, even if he knew the guy was gay.

  “Morning,” Rhys said with a friendly smile, his eyes flicking over Cornell’s body. “I brought you breakfast again.”

  Cornell breathed in, the smell of coffee hitting his nose. “And what do I have to do today to get my coffee?”

  Rhys put the tray down and his smile widened. “Funny you should ask.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “I want you to take two minutes and do some stretches with me, okay?”

  “Two minutes and that’s it? ‘Cause I’d hate to see that lovely coffee go cold.”

  “Two minutes,” Rhys promised.

  “Let me get dressed,” Cornell said.

  “No, do it like this. It will help me see if you do it right.”

  “Oh,” Cornell said, feeling strangely vulnerable to have his body on display. That feeling increased when Rhys took up position next to him and showed him a stretch Cornell was supposed to emulate, tight muscles rippling in that young, strong body. Cornell clenched his jaw as he copied the movement as best as he could.

  “Try to relax your muscles,” Rhys said. “You’re tensing up, and that’s pulling your shoulders up.”

  “It’s not that easy,” Cornell said, a little more snappy than he had intended to, and he felt horrible right after. Rhys was only trying to help him, and it wasn’t his fault that Cornell was a bitter old man who was envious of his youth. Ugh, when had he become that guy?

  Then Rhys’s hands gripped his shoulders, gentle but firm, and the tension melted away. A soft sigh tumbled from his lips and he closed his eyes for a second, leaning into that touch.

  “That’s so much better.” Rhys spoke in that soft, warm tone that curled around Cornell like a fuzzy blanket, one of those weighted ones that made you feel hugged and safe. Cornell wanted that tone all day, yearned to earn that praise. He needed to be a good boy and earn favor from his…

  His eyes flew open. What the ever-loving fuck was he doing? Why was his mind going there? Again? There was something wrong with him when he started seeing the twenty-three-year-old son of his best friend, his soul mate as Rhys had so perfectly described it, as a…as a Dom. Because for a few seconds, that’s how it had felt, as if Rhys was his Dom, praising him. And god, Cornell craved that.

&nbs
p; “Something wrong?” Rhys asked, his hands still on Cornell’s shoulders.

  Cornell had to clear his throat before he could speak. “I think it’s been two minutes, no?”

  Rhys let go of him. “You did well. Enjoy breakfast. Don’t take a shower today, because I want to do some exercises with you later to see your range of mobility and make a plan for further improvement. So don’t get dressed, just throw on a bathrobe.”

  And with those kind but clear commands, he left the room. Cornell put on the bathrobe Rhys had gestured at and lowered himself into the chair with shaky limbs. What the hell was happening? He had to get a grip on himself, because this was insane. Maybe he should’ve jacked off yesterday anyway, because clearly, he had some unresolved sexual tension or something in his system that made him react this strongly to…to nothing, really.

  There was nothing between him and Rhys. It was all in his head, because there was no way Rhys could ever be interested in a man more than twenty years his senior, and even if he was, Cornell could never go there. He was his godson, for fuck’s sake. His best friend’s kid, who he’d watched grow up. Granted, he’d grown up into one hell of a man, but he was barely that, way too young for him, for anyone.

  And those commands, the way he reacted to his voice, that was all because he’d been without a Dom too long. God, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a scene that had left him fulfilled emotionally as well as physically. He tried to think back as he ate the yogurt with fresh fruit Rhys had prepared for him.

  The last time had been with that Dom who’d given a demonstration in the club and who had taken a liking to Cornell and Jonas. He’d used both of them in his scene, and he’d made them fly so high it had taken hours before the high had worn off. Sub drop had been severe that week, but the guy had even checked in on them after a few days, wanting to make sure they were okay. Now that had been a worthy Dom.

  Maybe he should find out if the guy would be visiting anytime soon. Then he caught himself. What was the point? He was useless as a sub now, unable to kneel, unable to perform even basic physical services for his Dom. And as for any kind of pain infliction, he couldn’t imagine himself being able to take on anything, not with the constant pain he was already in. Sure, it was a different pain, and the endorphins from deliberate pain might help, but even the thought left him shaken. They wouldn’t know his limits, and it would be all too easy for him to get hurt even worse. No, he had to accept that part of his life was over.

  He ate his breakfast and read the newspaper that Rhys had thoughtfully supplied again. He really was a sweetheart, wasn’t he?

  Sweetheart.

  It triggered something in his brain, that word, as if he’d heard someone use it recently. He frowned. It must have been on something he watched on TV, because he couldn’t have heard it anywhere else.

  He waited for a bit after breakfast, strangely nervous about the exercises Rhys had proposed. He had to find a way to get out of his head, to forget about these strange thoughts, because it would get awkward soon if he didn’t. Should he jerk off first? But why would he when this wasn’t even sexual? Besides, his dick wasn’t showing any interest.

  He shrugged it off, a stab of pain reminding him that was not a move he should do, and padded into the house, looking for Rhys. He found him in what used to be a room where Jonas had some gym equipment, but that had been transformed in a physical therapy room. Cornell whistled between his teeth as he looked around.

  The carpet on the floor had been replaced by shiny vinyl, and there were mirrors on two walls, as well as a long rail that looked like a ballet barre. There were two different treatment tables, a treadmill, and an exercise bike, as well as a range of small fitness equipment like kettle balls and yoga blocks and more.

  “This looks amazing, Rhys,” Cornell said, impressed with how professional it appeared.

  “Thank you. You’re the first to use it, so you get to be my guinea pig.”

  “Thank you?” Cornell said, half-joking.

  “Okay, so I want to do some tests today to check your range of motion, especially for your shoulder, but if we still have time and you’re not too tired, we can look at your legs as well.”

  Cornell cocked his head. “I would’ve thought my legs would take priority?”

  Rhys shook his head. “No, not for me. They’re still healing, and you have some residual swelling. I think the plan there is to slowly build up in non-strenuous exercise, like walking and swimming. But your shoulder is my first concern, since it didn’t heal as well as I would’ve expected it to. Can you take the robe off and hop on this table for me?”

  “Don’t expect any hopping from me,” Cornell joked as he reached for the belt of his robe, feeling that same strange embarrassment again. “Crawling will be more like it.”

  “I’ll take you whichever way I can get you,” Rhys said, and boy, that sounded way more sexual to Cornell than it should. He groaned as he managed to sit on the table, his legs dangling over the side.

  “Okay, raise your good arm for me. Now your bad arm,” Rhys said, and over the next minutes, he let Cornell do a series of movements that tested both shoulders. Rhys made notes on an iPad, and Cornell smiled at his focus and professionalism. Hell, he did more tests than the rehabilitation center had ever done, that was for sure.

  “What’s the verdict, doctor?” he joked when Rhys was done and was studying the notes he made with an adorable frown between his eyebrows.

  “Can I touch you?” Rhys asked, and Cornell was almost surprised he’d ask for permission.

  “Sure.”

  Rhys put his iPad down. “Lie down for me on your stomach. I want to try something.”

  It was far from elegant, the way Cornell managed to lie down, but he did it, a sigh of relief flying from his lips when he could relax again.

  “I want you to put both of your arms on these arm rests, okay?”

  Rhys pointed at two arm rests he pulled out of the table that were at a 45-degree angle from his body. Cornell moved his arms and discovered it was a comfortable position because there was no tension in his shoulders and he didn’t have to put any weight on them. His face fit perfectly into the oval hole in the table, so he could look down at the floor and keep his head relaxed.

  “This is very comfortable,” he reported back.

  “Good. That’s the goal. Now, I’m gonna try massaging your shoulder, which may hurt. I think you have connective tissue that formed after your injury. It’s gotten too much and too immobile, and it’s preventing your shoulder from functioning well. My hope is that by massaging this, we can stimulate the circulation and get it to become supple again.”

  Cornell tried not to think about that one word he’d so casually dropped. Hurt. He was so damn tired of his body, of the pain. Still, he mentally fortified himself. “Sounds good.”

  He heard a cap open and then warm oil dripped on his back. “It’s warm,” he said, surprised.

  Rhys laughed. “I use a little warmer for the oil so it’s not so cold to the touch. That way, patients don’t tense in shock.”

  Cornell heard him rub his hands together, and then they landed on his shoulder. The touch was gentle, strong hands warming up the muscles with steady, systematic moves. That felt good, actually, and just when he thought that, Rhys’s thumbs dug in.

  “Holy fucking…” Cornell swallowed the rest, needing his energy to keep breathing.

  “Yeah, it’s as I thought. I’m sorry, because I know this hurts. The good news is that this will give you improvement soon, especially if we do this regularly.”

  Oh god, he wouldn’t survive this on a regular basis. This fucking hurt. Then he checked himself. Yes, it hurt, but not more than what he’d been through already. Much less, in fact. He could do this, and when Rhys said it would help in the long term, he’d suck it up and bear it. It would be worth it. And so he tried to relax into the pain as Rhys kneaded and massaged with amazing strength in his hands.

  “Good, I can feel the
tension leaving,” Rhys said, and the pleasure center in Cornell’s brain lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. He was such a pathetic pleaser, willing to do anything for a little affectionate praise. Still, he couldn’t help himself, and he focused on his breathing, willing his muscles to slacken even more.

  “Yes, you’re doing great. This makes it so much easier for me to reach the areas where I need to be,” Rhys said, his voice taking on that warm affirmation. “Do you feel the pain lessen as well? It won’t hurt nearly as much if you manage to stay relaxed.”

  How about that? The kid was right. And so Cornell focused on relaxing and breathing, soaking up Rhys’s casual words of praise like a dying plant soaking up the sunlight.

  * * *

  This was a special kind of torture, Rhys felt. Not so much touching Cornell, because that was too clinical and focused on helping him to be sexual. No, it was the way Cornell responded to his every word of praise. The man was so hungry for it, and it was hard for Rhys to find the right balance. He wanted to give him what he needed but without taking it too far. Cornell couldn’t realize yet that Rhys was on to him, though the question was how long he could keep that up.

  His mother’s words came to mind, about Cornell becoming uncomfortable when he found out. They were far beyond uncomfortable now. If Cornell discovered it and knew that Rhys had used praise on purpose to subtly steer him, he’d be livid. And maybe he’d have a right to be. It did feel like manipulating him, even if he was doing it with the very best intentions.

  No, he should tell him. Soon. Cornell needed to know so they could at least be open about that. And maybe, just maybe, he’d be open to playing together. It wasn’t like he had a ton of options right now, not with him being confined to the house, way out in the boonies, as his dad had always called it. Not many Doms would be willing to come all the way out here, not for a sub who had so many limitations.