I try not to resent him for not asking what I need. I’m the one who’s established the rules in this relationship, and expecting him to guess what I can’t quite make myself put into words isn’t fair. Then again, I’m not feeling particularly fair right now. He wants to be punished? Fine. “Kneel.”
His mouth goes flat. “That’s not—”
“Get on your knees, Alaric.” I inject enough bite into my tone to make him respond instinctively. He kneels in a smooth move, and he’s glaring at the floor because he knows better than to glare at me. I sift my fingers through his dark hair. “You came to me to meet your needs.”
“I came to you hoping I could convince you to let me stay the night in your bed.”
“No.” My bed is fine for fucking, but it’s my sanctuary at night, a place I can let down my walls completely and rest a little bit before I have to don my armor and go back out into the world. If he stays, there will be no rest, not when he’s too focused on his internal conflict to worry about my needs. “You are going back into that room tonight. Would you like a beating or a fucking before you do?”
He tenses and then relaxes on his exhale. “A beating.”
I suspected as much. “Tell me your safe word.”
“Mermaid.”
I am tired and irritated, but I push it away. I knew Alaric would let his guilt get the best of him. I didn’t think it’d happen quite so fast, but one learns to adapt when they’re in a position of power. A good beating will purge some of the messier emotions he’s nursing, at least for now. “Stand at the foot of the bed. You know your place.”
He rises gracefully and moves to one of the columns of the four-poster bed. The strap is artfully concealed within the fabric there, but Alaric and I have done this before. He frees it and loops it around his hands. It’s capable of tightening enough to bind, but he’s choosing this, and if I allow him some fantasies, this isn’t one. He’s choosing this. Choosing me.
I walk to the cabinet next to my armoire and pick through the options there. Crops and a wide range of floggers and even a whip, though I don’t use the latter often. It’s dramatic and really gets a point across, but not practical for regular use. I finally settle on one of my favorite floggers, a heavy leather one that will bruise him, but won’t cut his pretty skin.
One heavy enough to tire me out so that I can get some sleep tonight.
I walk back toward Alaric, enjoying the way he looks standing naked by my bed. I take my time studying the way his broad shoulders create a V down to his ass. He’s not huge, but he spends a lot of time on his body and it shows.
I swing the flogger, warming up my arm and shoulder. It takes effort and practice to become as good as I am—not to mention a whole lot of stamina. I’ll never admit as much, but I’ve had to work on my upper body strength since I started playing with Alaric regularly. He can take a much longer and harsher beating than someone like Aurora can, though she’s a little pain slut, too.
I beat Alaric until my entire arm and shoulder are on fire and his pale skin is a dark pink that promises he’ll wear my marks by morning. Until he’s leaning against the column for support and his body is loose and pliant. Until I’ve beaten all the guilt right out of him, at least for now. Until I’m so tired, I’m practically weaving on my feet.
I toss the flogger aside and walk to press against his back, relishing his hissed exhale at the contact. “Do you feel better, lover?”
“Yes, Mistress.” His voice has gone dreamy and low.
My irritation has long since passed. Maybe we needed this, a touchstone before the week begins in earnest. I move back enough to untie my robe and let it fall to the ground. When I press against him again, it’s skin to skin. I reach around and laugh a little when I find his cock hard. “Get on the bed, Alaric.”
He moves slowly, as if in a daze. I’ll have to bring him back down to earth before I send him back to the spare bedroom. I wait for him to lie down on his back and then climb up to straddle his hips. I press my hands to his chest, press his aching back more firmly against the mattress. “Did you like fucking that virgin pussy?”
He cries out and writhes beneath me. “Yes, Mistress.”
“It wasn’t enough for you, though, was it? Once is never enough for you.” I reach between us and guide his cock into me. I have to close my eyes for a moment. This never gets old. No matter where Alaric and I misstep in other areas, we are consistent here. Our needs fit each other’s too well to give up. I work myself down his cock and then open my eyes to find him watching me with a dazed expression on his handsome face.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he gasps. He tentatively reaches out. “Can I—”
“Touch me.” Another time I’d make him lie there perfectly still while I fuck him slowly, coming over and over again while he’s denied that final pleasure. Not tonight. I want it quick and dirty. I ride him as he palms my breasts, his expression rapturous. Pleasure rises in steady waves, driven by how good he feels inside me, by the worshipful way he watches me fuck him. I press two fingers into his mouth. He opens eagerly, sucking me deep and stroking me with his tongue. This man really is a joy, even if he’s high maintenance as hell.
I withdraw my fingers and begin stroking my clit, intent on my pleasure. “Don’t you dare come first.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grinds out, the hoarseness of his words giving lie to them. He’s dancing on the edge.
I slow down, torturing us both as I lift myself and sink down his length. “You feel good inside me, lover. You feel like mine.”
“I am.” His whole body is one long line of tension as he struggles to obey my command not to orgasm. “I’m yours, Mistress.”
I come hard, and as I begin to lose control, Alaric grabs my hips and keeps me fucking his cock, drawing out my orgasm even as he fights his own. I half collapse, catching myself on his chest. “Now you have permission to come.”
He drives up into me, his expression agonized as he follows me over the edge. I roll my hips a little, enjoying the feeling of him softening inside me, enjoying how possessive it makes me. My cock, my Alaric, mine. It doesn’t matter that I’m sending him back to Zurielle in a few moments because in this moment he is undeniably mine.
I press a kiss to his lips and climb off him. “Do you feel better?”
“Yes.” It comes out as a sigh.
It’s so tempting to tell him to stay. To finish getting ready for bed and tuck him in next to me and spend the night with his comforting weight against my body. To just…let down the barriers for a little while, set down the weight I’ve carried for so long. To let myself rest.
I can’t do it.
I care about Alaric, but I don’t trust him. Not entirely. He’s too wrapped up in himself and now in Zurielle. The entire time I’ve known him, he’s been essentially owned by Hades because of the reckless decision he made in Olympus. Even throwing in his support with me is reckless. Alaric is reckless.
I have sacrificed too much and done too many terrible things to put my territory at risk for something as mundane as love.
If I let Alaric in, if I allow him to be a full partner, he won’t stop being reckless. And then I will have to manage his decisions in addition to everything else already on my plate. There may come a time when I’m willing to take that risk, but not now, not when I’m finally on the verge of bringing Triton down a few notches.