I pause just outside the door to the playroom, letting the emotions stirred up from my conversation with Triton have their moment before I file them away. I’ve riled him, and the pure satisfaction that knowledge brings is almost enough to blot out the danger. Triton isn’t a loose cannon, no matter how intense his anger.
There was a time when I could have anticipated his next move as if it were my own, but I’ve changed in the last twenty years. No doubt he’s done the same. I can’t assume that I’ll know what moves he’ll make.
More, I can’t allow hate to consume me until it’s all I see.
I’ve been a thorn in Triton’s side since we were still young enough to think that power came without price. Olympus is a heady drug and answering directly to Poseidon, one of the legacy roles within the Thirteen, is headier yet. I worked hard to get to that position, to be seen by Poseidon and the others as someone of value. Something far from the little suburban life I had growing up, safe and wholesome and suffocating me more and more with each day that passed. It was enough for my parents, but I wanted more. I wanted to hitch myself to the glowing stars that are the Thirteen.
Securing the job working for Poseidon, stepping into a world that only the lucky, the powerful, the ambitious get to see? It felt like coming home, fulfilling the hole inside me that I’d barely been able to define. Even my rivalry with Triton was part of that feeling. We were friends. Occasionally we were closer than friends, at least before he married Zurielle’s mother. Even so, I should have expected the knife in the back, should have known that it’d be his hand that wielded it. It took me longer than it took Triton to understand how the game worked. The Thirteen might be all but the gods they’re named for, but they get their power in the same way everyone else in the world does. Money. Edging the line between legal and illegal. More money.
I let fondness for Triton muddy the waters, and it made me hesitate when I should have been the one to strike first. I didn’t realize at the time that it had to be him or me, that Poseidon only wanted one second-in-command. The strongest. The most ruthless. The one willing to do anything for the position. I thought Triton would challenge the order to eliminate each other the same way I did.
He didn’t.
Better that he killed me. Exile is a bone in my throat, no matter what I’ve made of my life in Carver City. I didn’t have a choice, can never go home again, and for that he has to pay.
I take a deep breath, and then another. With each exhale, I push away the unwelcome thoughts. No matter what role of Dominant I play, that kind of prickly anger has no place in a scene. If it were just Alaric and me, I could trust him to draw the line. He’s experienced as a submissive and can ride the waves of my anger easily. He’s done it before.
Zurielle?
I might harm the girl.
No matter what she might think of me, that was never part of the plan.
Another breath and I have it locked down. I’m able to smile as I step through the door, and the expression becomes more prominent at the sight of them. Alaric and Zurielle. Different in so many ways, but identical in the only way that matters. They submit to me, and do it beautifully.
I leave them kneeling and allow myself to sink into the simple enjoyment of preparing the next bit of the scene. There are times when I’d want the action ready to begin the moment we walk through the door, but I enjoy making them wait while I do this. They can hear me, but they’re both too obedient to disobey a command and look up.
I strip out of my dress and take my time getting the strap-on fastened and adjusted. The larger tentacle destined for Alaric attaches easily and I take a moment to look at myself in the full-length mirror positioned just so.
Perfect.
I snap my fingers. “Zurielle, on your feet.” Pleasure courses through me when she obeys instantly. This girl really is a joy. If I were a different person, if she weren’t such an innocent… If, if, if.
There is no keeping her. I’d do well to remember that.
I lead her over to the bench I’ve positioned carefully. It’s long and rectangular, and short enough for her to kneel on the ground. The smaller tentacle is fastened to the center of it. I stroke my hand down her hair, enjoying the way she shivers. “You’re going to ride that, darling. And while you do, I’m going to fuck Alaric. Be very good and I’ll let him lick your clit while I take his ass.”
Her gaze flies to my face before she seems to remember herself and drop it. I give her ass a playful little swat. From her sharp inhale, she’s still plenty sore. “Come along, little Zurielle.” I nudge her forward and arrange her to my satisfaction, kneeling astride the bench. It’s just high enough that once she’s taken the dildo deep, she won’t be able to escape it. Not without standing.
The look she gives me… Gods. She’s intimidated and looking for reassurance from me despite the fact that I’m the one responsible for what comes next. I love this part of being a Dominant; the dual nature. Punishment and comfort, all tangled up in a delicious knot. Finding a balance between the two is walking the knife’s edge, and each moment thrills me, a challenge I’m only too happy to rise to meet.
I don’t intend to kiss her. It’s sentimental in the extreme to think that kissing means something when we’ve been exchanging bodily fluids for hours now, but I can’t deny the shock that goes through my body as her tongue tentatively strokes mine. As if asking for permission, even in this.
Gods, what if I do keep her?
I tangle my fingers in her hair and pull her closer, letting myself off the leash a little, kissing her the way I crave. Deep and messy and oh so decadent. She tastes like innocence. Like a gift that I’m suddenly certain I’m too selfish to give up.
By the time I manage to lift my head, she’s got her arms looped around my neck and she’s pressing her body to mine. She’s so damn delicate. So fragile. So fucking breakable. It simultaneously makes me want to crack her open just to see her cry and protect her from all the harshness the world is only too happy to brandish.
I carefully take her throat and urge her back a step. She’s flushed and blinking up at me like I just blew her mind with only a kiss. I can’t blame her. The world is a little unsteady beneath my feet, though I’ll never admit it aloud. I hold her gaze and cup her pussy. She’s soaking wet, and I doubt it’s solely from the kiss. No, little Zurielle wants what I’m about to give her, even if she’s nervous.
It’s enough to make me wonder if she’ll approach everything I do to her with the same balance of fear and desire. It’s a heady thing, and I have to stop myself from coaxing her to orgasm again purely from the delight she brings me. “On the bench.”
I hold her hand as she awkwardly sinks onto the bench a few inches behind the dildo. She looks down at it, that delicious trepidation in those big dark eyes. I give her hand a tug, urging her closer to it. “Grind on it, darling. You know you want to.”
She rolls her hips a little, rubbing her pussy against it. Zurielle’s eyes go wider yet, and she looks at me. “I don’t…”
“Dislike it. Yes, I know.” I lean closer. “It feels wicked, doesn’t it? Rubbing on it like a wanton little thing while I watch.”
“Yes, Mistress.” She licks her lips and begins rolling her hips again. This time, she doesn’t stop. Her body flushes, and she doesn’t quite manage to lower her eyes.