This is my first full length story, so I hope you enjoy it! Please email me ([email protected]) any feedback. Enjoy!
All characters are entirely fictional besides Byron, whom has given me his express permission to include later in the book. Please follow him on Instagram (@byronrosekelly)!
Harry's Surrender
The night air was cool against their skin as Jase, Harry, and Dylan stepped out of The Velvet Stag, their bodies still radiating heat from the attention they had soaked in all evening. The contrast between the chill breeze and their overheated skin created a sensory symphony that heightened every nerve ending, making them acutely aware of the boundaries between themselves and the world. Harry and Dylan's magenta boxer briefs were the only clothing they had left—everything else had vanished into the hands of eager admirers, claimed as trophies of an unforgettable evening. But none of them cared about this state of near-nakedness. The night had been a revelation, a baptism in admiration and submission, a test of boundaries that Harry never knew he was ready to cross.
They walked through the quiet streets, the neon haze of the bar fading behind them. Streetlights cast dramatic shadows across their extraordinary physiques, highlighting the topographical marvel of muscles that seemed to exist in a different realm of human development. Harry was still on a high, his skin tingling from the constant hands, the lips, the worship that had transformed him from person to object and back again. But something deeper had settled inside him, a realization he wasn't ready to voice yet. He didn't just crave being adored—he craved being directed.
At his apartment door, Harry fumbled for his keys, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he unlocked it. The simple motion sent ripples of movement across his entire upper body, his massive deltoids and biceps engaging in perfect coordination even for this mundane task. As they stepped inside, he instinctively reached for the sofa, ready to set up a space for Dylan to crash, his hospitality automatic despite the extraordinary events of the evening.
Jase stopped him with a subtle gesture.
"Nah, mate," Jase said, his voice casual but carrying an undercurrent of authority that registered in Harry's nervous system before his conscious mind could process it. "Dylan and I will take your bed tonight."
Harry paused, brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "Then where am I supposed to sleep?"
Jase smirked, the expression containing volumes of unspoken intention. "You'll see."
The words sent an unexpected shiver racing down Harry's spine, a physical reaction he couldn't control or explain away.
Jase flopped onto the sofa, spreading himself comfortably across the cushions with the casual entitlement of someone claiming territory. He gestured for both men to sit beside him, the movement deliberate despite its apparent casualness. Dylan obeyed immediately, as always, his powerful legs folding effortlessly as he took a seat. His massive thighs spread wide by necessity rather than choice, the extraordinary development of his quadriceps forcing this stance upon him. Harry hesitated, an unfamiliar uncertainty flickering across his features before finally settling on the opposite side of Jase.
As soon as he did, he felt it—Jase's hands, warm and firm, stroking their way over his thick, muscular thighs. The touch was casual, yet dominant, a silent claim of ownership that sent electrical currents racing through Harry's nervous system. On the other side, Jase's other hand rested on Dylan with similar proprietary confidence, but Dylan was used to this. For Harry, this was new territory—the deliberate crossing of a boundary that had been fading for months but never explicitly breached until this moment.
Harry swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet room. His whole body felt electric, every nerve ending heightened to painful sensitivity.
"You need to hear this," Jase said, his voice smooth, knowing, carrying the weight of someone who sees more than they should. "Dylan, tell him what you told me."
Dylan turned, his extraordinary bulk shifting with fluid grace despite its massive proportions. His eyes were bright and unashamed, carrying neither apology nor hesitation. "I exist to be used. To serve. It's why I was built like this. Doesn't matter that I'm straight—I was made to be owned by men stronger than me in ways that aren't just about muscle."
Harry exhaled, shaking his head slightly, as if trying to dislodge the effect the words were having on him. "But... you enjoy it?"
Dylan smiled, nodding with genuine enthusiasm. "More than I can explain. It's freedom, Haz. No decisions. No doubt. Just pure surrender. And it's incredible."
Harry ran a hand through his platinum-blond hair, his mind spinning with implications. He thought about all the hands on him tonight, the way people had worshipped his body, the way he'd been unable to say no to any of it. He thought about how it felt when Jase touched him—the thrill, the safety, the need to follow.
Jase shifted beside him, the movement bringing their bodies into closer proximity. "You want this, don't you?"
Harry's jaw clenched, his breath shallow and quick. He felt Jase's fingers brush his face, guiding his gaze towards him. It was the first time someone had physically made him look them in the eye, and the effect was overwhelming. Control being taken from him rather than freely given—it sent a surge of heat through his entire system.
"You want to be used, Harry," Jase murmured, his fingers tracing Harry's jaw, his grip firm but never forceful. "You just don't know how to say it yet."
Harry's lips parted, but no words emerged. Jase could see right through him, past the carefully constructed façade of confidence, past the years of playing the role of admired specimen, to the core of what Harry truly craved.
Dylan shifted off the couch, silently kneeling in front of them. Without being asked, he bent forward on all fours, his massive frame becoming a human footstool for Jase, his face displaying complete satisfaction at fulfilling his purpose.
Jase propped his feet on Dylan's broad back, sighing contentedly at the living furniture beneath him. "See that, Haz? No hesitation. No doubts. That's what submission looks like."
Harry watched, eyes wide, his pulse hammering against his ribs with such force it seemed to shake his entire frame. He wanted to object, to say it was different for him—but was it? Every nerve in his body was telling him otherwise.
Jase's hand slid lower, across Harry's pecs, over his core, brushing the waistband of his magenta briefs. He could feel the heat radiating off Harry's skin, could feel the way his best mate's body responded involuntarily, the evidence of his arousal impossible to disguise in such minimal clothing.
Jase leaned in, his lips barely a breath away from Harry's ear. "I love you, Haz. Let me in."
The words broke something inside Harry, something that had been holding him back for longer than he could remember. His heart pounded, his vision tunneled in on Jase's knowing, patient, dominant gaze.
Harry nodded slowly, voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, sir."
The surrender was complete.
Jase smirked, then closed the gap, pulling Harry into a deep, commanding, electric kiss that sealed his fate.
And Harry? Harry had never felt more at home.
The Final Surrender
Jase stood from the sofa, stretching lazily, his presence alone exuding control. He gestured for Harry and Dylan to follow him to the bedroom, his expression unreadable yet somehow containing absolute certainty that he would be obeyed.
Harry followed without question, his mind racing. I said it. I actually said it. That moment at the bar, when he had felt his entire world shift with two simple words—Yes, sir. The realization burned in his chest, exciting and terrifying all at once. He had no idea what it fully meant yet, but Jase did. Jase was going to show him.
The bedroom was dimly lit, the glow from the streetlights outside casting long shadows across the walls. Jase turned, his sharp eyes flicking between the two muscle gods in front of him, still clad in matching magenta boxer briefs, their flawless physiques on full display.
"Harry," Jase said smoothly, his voice carrying that perfect blend of authority and warmth that vibrated through Harry's entire nervous system. "Undress me."
Harry blinked, his lips parting slightly. It was one thing to admit to this—to acknowledge his need for something more—but another thing entirely to act on it.
Jase smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Problem?"
Harry exhaled, shaking his head quickly. "No, sir."
Jase's smirk widened, his hand reaching out to ruffle Harry's thick, platinum-blond hair. "Good boy. Now, get to work."
Harry swallowed, stepping forward. His fingers found the hem of Jase's black T-shirt, brushing over the taut, sculpted abs beneath as he lifted it. His hands trembled slightly—not from nerves, but from something deeper, something right.
Jase noticed. "Look at you," he murmured, amusement coloring his tone. "All that muscle, all that strength... and you're shaking because you want to do this."
Harry couldn't argue. He pulled the shirt over Jase's head and let it drop to the floor, his gaze drinking in the sheer definition of Jase's torso. He had seen Jase shirtless a million times before—but never like this. Never with the understanding that Jase owned him now.
Jase flexed slightly, watching Harry's reaction. "You like what you see, don't you?"
Harry nodded, and Jase chuckled, tracing a finger down the deep central groove of Harry's pecs. "I know you do. Keep going."
Harry reached for Jase's belt next, unfastening it with careful precision. The click of the buckle echoed in the room. He hesitated for only a second before slipping the belt from its loops and dropping it onto the bedside table.
Jase noticed. "You hesitated."
Harry bit his lip. "It's just... I've never—"
"I know," Jase cut in smoothly, his hand tilting Harry's chin up so their eyes met. "That's why you're mine now. To learn. To let go."
Harry's heart pounded. He nodded, then moved to unbutton Jase's jeans. As he slid them down over those thick, powerful thighs, he realized something: this felt right. It wasn't about attraction, wasn't about wanting another man. It was about submission. About letting Jase take control.
Jase stepped out of his jeans, kicking them aside. Standing there in nothing but his snug black briefs, he exuded dominance. He reached up, fingers threading through Harry's hair again, tugging gently.
"You're learning fast," Jase murmured, his voice low and approving.
Harry exhaled heavily. "Thank you, sir."
Jase turned his attention to Dylan. "You know what to do."
Dylan grinned and immediately moved behind Harry, his strong hands gliding over the sculpted expanse of Harry's lower back before coming to rest on his phenomenal glutes. He squeezed, kneading the muscle like a craftsman admiring his best work.
Then he leaned in, pressing his face between those perfect globes, inhaling deeply.
Harry jolted slightly, gripping Jase's arm to steady himself. The sensation was new, electric, overwhelming.
Jase grinned at his reaction. "You've never been worshipped properly, have you?"
Harry swallowed. "Not like this."
"Well, get used to it," Jase murmured. "Because this? This is your life now."
Harry's stomach flipped at the certainty in Jase's voice.
Jase stepped back, gesturing to the bed. "Now, time for bed. And I have big plans for you."
Harry barely had time to react before Jase guided him onto the mattress. "Lay down, face down, across the top of the bed."
Harry obeyed instantly, his powerful frame stretched out, massive arms folded under his head. His glutes, still clad in the tight magenta fabric, curved high—the perfect place for Jase to rest his head.
Jase climbed onto the bed, settling himself so that his head nestled against the thick, warm muscle of Harry's backside. He sighed in satisfaction, adjusting slightly before getting comfortable. "Perfect. I knew you'd make a good pillow."
Harry's entire body shivered in pleasure at the words.
Jase turned his attention to Dylan, who was already moving into position. "And you," he said, tapping Dylan's massive chest, "get on your back at the foot of the bed."
Dylan didn't even need an explanation. He lay down as instructed, his broad, sculpted torso perfectly raised for Jase's feet.
Jase reached for the straps attached to the bedframe—nothing restrictive, just enough to keep Dylan in place. As he secured Dylan's wrists lightly, he ran his thumbs over Dylan's pulse points, feeling the steady, eager rhythm beneath.
"You're so well trained," Jase murmured. "I should thank Ethan for that."
Harry blinked. Ethan? What does Ethan have to do with this?
He thought about questioning it, but the moment passed. He knew his place. He does not ask questions. He only follows orders.
Men—powerful men—could do anything to him, and he would willingly, eagerly comply.
Dylan grinned. "He'd like that."
Jase stretched, letting his feet rest heavily against Dylan's immovable pecs. "Tonight," he said, voice dripping with satisfaction, "we sleep like kings."
Dylan nodded, his voice soft with pleasure. "Thank you, sir."
Harry remained silent. Not because he had nothing to say, but because there was nothing to say. He had never felt this at peace.
Jase let his head sink further into the thick muscle of Harry's glutes, exhaling in utter contentment. "Yeah," he murmured sleepily, "you're definitely mine now."
Harry's eyes fluttered shut, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Yes, sir.
And with that, he let himself go.
