“Stairs lead up from the pantry.”
He shook his head. “On second thought, I have a perfectly good bedroom downstairs.”
“No. I don’t go down there unless I’m invited.”
“I’m inviting you.”
“No. By Tess or Mac. You’re the decoy. We go to my room.”
He frowned. “I have condoms downstairs. You got any upstairs? Or should I make a run downstairs to get mine?”
“I have coconut oil upstairs, if that works for you. No condoms needed.” Technically, the odds of a mammal and bird procreating were super-slim. It almost never happens, but I wasn’t prepared to take the risk. We couldn’t pass any diseases onto each other, but I wasn’t prepared to be a mom anytime soon. If ever.
The next thing I knew, he’d slung me over his shoulder and I had a view of the floor as he walked across it to the pantry.
“You’re going to need my palmprint.”
“Too bad it won’t take a cheek print.” He put me down in the center of the pantry, and I walked to the pasta section. The palm scanner was installed at an angle, so it isn’t noticeable and only needs an inch and a half of clear space on the shelf. Once it registered my palm, the entire shelving unit slid sideways. I only managed to take a single step before I was slung over Dementor’s shoulder again.
He’d topped the stairs before I could draw in a breath to tell him, “No bruises below my knees, or on my arms, chest, neck, or face. Don’t do anything I’ll need to change and heal for.”
It felt wrong to be giving orders, but Topping men had taught me it’s okay to provide these kind of boundaries.
“That’s it?” He dumped me on my back on the bed. “Nothing about tickling, or fisting, or using hot pepper oil on your clit?”
My insides ignited without warning. My heart beat faster. I knew he could smell what his words had done to me, but it was too late to stop it. “No. I’m yours for about an hour, just remember I’m going to be on skates getting beat up by human women for two-ish hours tonight. Let’s say nothing from the knees down at all, just to be safe, but only because I have a match tonight.” Somehow, I managed to talk without sounding like a needy little toy.
“An hour? Not much time to do this right.” He unfastened my jeans, lifted my legs in the air by grasping the hems down around my ankles, and yanked them off, all in less than five seconds. “But hopefully you’ll give me more time later.”
My panties were soon tossed across the room along with my jeans, and my entire body jerked and contracted when he shoved two fingers inside me without warning. I was already soaked, so it wasn’t like I wasn’t ready, but it was completely unexpected.
Two seconds after my body reacted with shock, every submissive hormone my body could produce was flowing through my veins. I wanted this man to take me and use me. I needed him to find pleasure by using my body. Once a toy, always a toy? I didn’t care in that moment. I just needed him to pound the fuck out of me.
His smirk told me he understood. Two fingers came out. Three went in. I gasped, but didn’t dare look away from his gaze. This wasn’t an alpha who demands you look down in submission, but one who demands you allow him to see you. I’ve been fully trained by both kinds, and while it’s easier to look down and escape — to keep a little of yourself hidden — in the long run, I prefer being forced to show myself. Also, it works both ways, because you also get to see into the Dom’s soul.
Some sadists only want to hurt you if you enjoy it. Others just want to hurt you. Before Sophia negotiated for my freedom, I’d had to suffer from both types. Afterwards, I stayed because I could turn down the ones who wanted to cut me and burn me. The ones who gave me so much pain, it was just hell. I couldn’t get on top of it. I became the pain until darkness took over. It was too much, and I hated it.
But I learned to love other kinds of pain, and that’s why I stayed. I enjoyed being a toy to Able and his most trusted inner circle.
Looking into Dementor’s eyes told me he might give me bad pain every once in a while, but in this moment, he was looking for ways to make me enjoy the things he’d do to me.
“Surely your parents didn’t name you Dementor?”
“Isaiah, but my family calls me Zay, or sometimes Zay-ya. My MC brothers sometimes just call me D.” His hand kept moving. It felt a little like he was daring me to try to keep up the conversation I’d started.
“So, you’re either Dee or Zay?”
He chuckled and pressed four fingers into me, stretching me until it hurt. I was suddenly teetering on the edge of an orgasm — if he’d only pummel me hard I was certain it wouldn’t take long. My heart somersaulted in my chest, my eyes closed, and a long, low groan rumbled through my entire body. Fuck, but I needed this.
My feet were near my butt, and my knees slanted out to give him room to work. Apparently, he wanted more. “Spread your feet more, and press your butt up. Not that much. Maybe an inch off the bed.”
I immediately moved to obey, and he smiled. “Good girl. Spread your labia and pull your clit hood up.”
When I’d done as ordered, he pulled his four fingers out of me and backed off the bed. “Hold it while I undress. Let your clit get good and dry while you watch. When I finish undressing, I’m going to flick it. It’s going to hurt. The amount of lube you get in your ass will be directly proportional to how still you can stay while I flick it six times.”
The cool, dry air on my clit was certainly drying it out, but his words made sure nothing else went dry. Fuck. I both needed and dreaded this. The scent of my arousal hung in the room. Overpowering. There was no way to hide what he was doing to me.
I needed this.
Not wanted. Needed. Playing with the cute boy-toys had been fun, but nothing could compare to what submitting to a sadist did to me.
I still wore my bra and shirt, but I didn’t ask if or when he’d take them off. He clearly had a plan.
Most men take their shirt off first, but he sat and worked his boots off. It took several really long minutes. Biker boots apparently aren’t easy-on-easy-off. He poked his socks into the boots, stood, removed his holster with the gun still in it and settled it on the side table, and finally dropped his jeans and underwear all at once. He wore a black t-shirt, and it became the backdrop for the fattest cock I’ve ever seen — and I’ve fucked a bunch of owls, who traditionally tend to have short, fat dicks, as do all male bird-shifters who have a cloaca in animal form. An eagle shifter had once split my asshole open and made me bleed, but he’d only been about six inches long.
Dementor, however, was fat and long. My drying clit throbbed enough, I felt my pulse in the fingers surrounding it.
And then he took his shirt off, and I wished I could take a picture. His body was perfection. I mean, he’s huge, but he isn’t built like a body-builder. There are muscles, but he isn’t overly ripped. He’s a bear — no one would ever mistake him for a cat.
My eyes moved from his chest and arms back down to his dick. He was going to be way too long to fit in my pussy, and possibly a little long for my backdoor, but I’d adjust. Probably.
“Remember — you aren’t going to get much lube if you can’t be still.”