Kingsley relaxed at once, surrendering himself entirely to the grip of the cuffs. He closed his eyes and rested his face against the quilt, soft from a thousand washings and smelling clean as a spring dawn.
His back was covered in bruises from the earlier beating, and even the slightest touch hurt. So that was all Søren administered at first, light touches on his tender back. His large and heavy hand stroked the wounds, lighting them up like signal fires with every touch.
“It wouldn’t be right,” Søren said, his tone quiet and gentle, “to put bruises on top of your bruises. It wouldn’t be right at all, really. But it will be very, very enjoyable.”
Not would be. Will be.
Kingsley registered the switch in verb tense at the exact moment Søren brought the short crop down onto his back. Not only onto his back, but directly onto a fresh bruise. Kingsley buried his face into the quilt to muffle his cries. The pain was staggering. Tears filled his eyes, and he pulled hard enough on the cuffs that bound him that he could feel the metal digging into the wood.
Then it was over, and Kingsley panted against the pillow, his back as hot and throbbing as his cock. Cool air soothed his raw skin, but the respite was brief. Something touched his bruises again, and Kingsley cried out softly. He felt it again and knew what it was this time. Not a hand. Not the crop. Søren was kissing his back, kissing his bruises. Kissing them softly, but even Søren’s softest kisses caused him pain. Those were his favorite kisses, the ones that hurt.
Søren kissed a wandering path up Kingsley’s body from the small of his back to his sides, his ribs, between his shoulders, and then his neck. Søren was naked. Kingsley felt Søren’s cock pushing against the back of his thigh. A dizzying sensation, to be desired by this man.
He felt Søren’s hands slide up his arms. Then the handcuffs were off and tossed onto the floor with a metallic clatter. Kingsley’s body was loose and listless after the rush of pain. He let Søren turn him onto his back. He returned to full awareness at the moment when Søren laid down a black towel onto the bed, then picked up a small scalpel off the bedside table. No words were spoken, but Kingsley’s heart pounded loud enough he could hear it beating in his ears.
“Hold very still,” Søren said, his voice tender and soothing. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Søren was going to cut him with a scalpel, but he didn’t want to hurt him. Only to a sadist and the masochist who loved him did such a breach of logic make any sense. He meant that he didn’t want to hurt Kingsley unintentionally. He did, of course, want to hurt him—entirely on purpose and in exactly the manner he desired. That was Søren.
Kingsley, as ordered, did not move.
The chosen spot was on Kingsley’s hip, in that hollow of sensitive skin near the bone.
“You left your marks,” Søren said, head down and leaning over Kingsley’s hip. “Now I’ll leave mine.”
Kingsley watched Søren with hooded eyes, devouring the sight of his lover’s tender concentration. The beauty of a sadist at work. The intensity in his steel-colored eyes. The steadiness of his hand. A lock of silver-blond hair falling over his forehead. The lips parting in pleasure as the skin slit under the sharpest edge of the knife…
A small cut, but precise and in the shape of an S. Blood welled to the surface. Søren’s pupils dilated and took over his eyes.
“Are you all right?” Søren asked.
“I have never been better.”
Truly, only Søren could wield kisses like a knife and a knife like a kiss.
Everything happened fast after that. Søren moved Kingsley onto his side, opened him with wet fingers slick with lubricant. And then he was inside him, moving deep with long strokes. Side by side, Søren’s chest to Kingsley’s back and his hand clutching the bleeding hip, four legs entwined, breaths ragged and rushed.
Slow thrusts. Deep thrusts. Kingsley felt them all the way into the aching core of him. Søren’s hand on Kingsley’s cock. A wet hand wrapped around a thick cock. Stroking in time with the thrusts so that Kingsley felt overwhelmed by pleasure, pleasure in and pleasure out. He wanted to come more than he wanted to breathe, but even more he wanted to hold back and come with Søren.
He shut his eyes tight and breathed shallow breaths, even as his climax built. With his own hand on himself, he could have held back easier, controlled his arousal. But with Søren’s hand, so firm and grasping, it took herculean effort to hold back. The muscles of his stomach tightened painfully even as his hips worked into the hand that held him, and the cock inside him speared him completely.
“Come,” Søren ordered into his ear, and Kingsley couldn’t disobey. His back bowed and he let go, coming in spurts onto the white sheets even as Søren pounded into him with rough thrusts Kingsley barely registered through the wild haze of orgasm. As soon as he was empty, he was filled again. Søren came inside him as Kingsley lay limp and spent on the bed.
Then it was over, and they lay together, breathing together, bound together.
Søren slowly held out his hand and showed it to Kingsley. He saw the blood from the cut on his hip, staining the fingers and palm.
“It looks like my blood is your blood,” Kingsley said.
And Søren replied, “Your blood is my blood.”
Kingsley closed his eyes and asked himself how he could possibly leave this behind.
He didn’t know how, only that he would.
Chapter Ten
Slowly they disentangled from each other. Søren pulled on his black flannel pajama pants and left Kingsley naked and spent on the bed. Shortly, Søren returned, his hands freshly washed—no more blood—carrying a first-aid kit.
Søren gently swabbed the cut on his hip, then applied ointment and gauze.
“You know,” Kingsley said, never able to resist a chance to taunt Søren, “the famous Mistress Nora uses Snoopy brand Band-Aids when she cuts you up in her dungeon.”
“Yes, well, the famous Mistress Nora is slightly demented, I hear.”
“That’s what we boys pay her for.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that, too.”
Kingsley smiled as Søren snapped the first-aid kit shut. “You’re handling it better,” he said. “Her work. When did that happen?”
“I’m still not thrilled about it, but how could I deny her what I won’t deny myself?”
“Easily. You’d done it for years. So what changed?”
Søren looked at him. “You were in that room. We all were. You know what changed.”
Everything. Everything changed and there was no going back.
“How could I deny her anything now?” Søren said. “All that matters is that she’s alive and safe. And you.”
Søren slipped out of his clothes again, turned off the lamp, and slid into bed with him. Without thinking, Kingsley curled up against him and laid his head on Søren’s stomach.
“Don’t let me fall asleep,” Kingsley said. “I want to be home by midnight.”
“What happens at midnight?”
“Juliette will want crêpes.”