Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
PRIMSYN
The human follows me into the main hall, his footsteps heavy and dragging. Good. Let him be reluctant. Let him rage and fight and exhaust himself against the reality of his situation. It will make his eventual acceptance all the sweeter.
Acceptance.
Is that what I want from him? I'm not entirely sure anymore.
When I entered the auction house tonight, I had a simple goal: purchase a human male for my personal feeding stock.
Someone strong, healthy, capable of providing what I require.
I expected to feel nothing beyond practical satisfaction at acquiring quality livestock.
I did not expect him.
Oliver.
Even his name feels dangerous in my mouth, too personal for what he's supposed to be. Livestock don't have names that matter. They're numbered, catalogued, used. But this one, this defiant creature with fire in his eyes and blood on his lips, he's burning straight through my careful defenses.
The way he looked at me on that auction block—hatred, pure and simple. The way his body responded to my words despite his protests. The way he stands now in my entrance hall, shackled and bare and utterly magnificent in his rage.
I want him. Not just for food. I want to break his will slowly, carefully, until he begs me for the very thing he claims to despise. I want to hear my name on his lips as he comes undone.
Control yourself, Primsyn. You're not some inexperienced girl. You're forty years old, the widow of a council member, head of this household.
But I was also married to a man who never touched me, never wanted me, never made me feel anything but a decorative piece of furniture. And now, standing before this human who looks at me with such raw emotion, I feel something I haven't felt in years.
Alive.
"Madam Primsyn." My head steward, Corvask, approaches from the left corridor. His dark gray skin is nearly black in the dim lighting, his midnight-blue eyes sharp and assessing as they land on Oliver. "Your new acquisition?"
"Yes, have the bathing chamber prepared. He'll need to be cleaned before I take him to his quarters."
Oliver's head snaps toward me. "I can clean myself."
"You'll do as you're told," I reply without looking at him. To Corvask, I continue, "Send for Healer Madris as well. He has injuries that need tending."
"Just a split lip," Oliver interjects. "I don't need your fucking healer."
Now I do turn to look at him, allowing some of the steel I usually keep hidden to show in my expression. "You will accept care when it's offered. And you will stop testing my patience, or you'll find it has limits."
His jaw clenches, muscles jumping beneath stubbled skin. For a moment, I think he might actually lunge at me despite the shackles. Part of me almost wants him to.
"Understood?" I press.
Silence.
"Oliver." I step closer, close enough to smell the sweat and blood on him, close enough to see his pupils dilate. "I asked you a question."
"Understood," he spits out, the word forced through clenched teeth.
"Understood, Mistress," I correct.
His nostrils flare. "Understood, Mistress." He makes the title sound like a curse.
I allow myself a small smile. "Good. You can learn. Corvask, take him to the bathing chamber. I'll join you shortly."
Corvask gestures to two household guards, both Lactari built like stone walls. They flank Oliver, not touching him but making their presence known. Oliver's gaze darts between them, calculating. I can practically see him measuring distances, weighing odds.
"Don't," I say quietly. "You'll only hurt yourself, and I'd prefer you intact."
"For milking," he says flatly.
"Yes."
Something flashes across his face. Humiliation? Arousal? Both? His hands curl into fists, the shackles clinking softly.
"This way," Corvask says, his tone brooking no argument.
Oliver follows, because what choice does he have? I watch him go, admiring the rigid set of his shoulders, the way he holds himself like a warrior even in chains.
This one will be a challenge. And I look forward to it.
I give Oliver time to bathe while I change from my auction attire into something more comfortable. A loose tunic and fitted trousers, both in deep charcoal. I leave my hair down, an unusual choice for me, but I want something different. I want to feel different, be different, not made of stone.
But Oliver doesn't look at me like I'm made of stone. He looks at me like I'm real, dangerous, something to be destroyed. It's intoxicating.
I make my way to the bathing chamber, my bare feet silent on the cool floors. The sound of splashing water reaches me before I enter. Corvask stands outside the door, ever the proper steward.
"He's been...resistant," Corvask says diplomatically.
"Has he hurt anyone?"
"No, Madam. Mostly curses and threats."
"Let me speak with him alone."
Corvask's blue eyes widen. "Madam, I don't think that's wise. He's not properly trained yet. He could be dangerous."
"I'm well aware." I gesture for him to step aside. "Wait outside. I'll call if I need assistance."
He looks like he wants to argue but knows better. With a stiff bow, he moves down the corridor, taking the guards with him.
I push open the door.
The bathing chamber is one of the larger ones, with a sunken pool of heated water in the center and shelves lined with soaps and oils.
Steam rises in lazy curls, fogging the mirrors.
And there, kneeling in the water at the far end of the pool, with his back to me, is Oliver.
His hands rest on the edge with his head lowered to his chest.
The shackles are gone. His wrists are raw and red where the metal had bitten into skin. Water sluices down his back, tracing the lines of muscle, the curve of his spine. He's taller than I'd estimated, broader through the shoulders. A hunter's body, lean and powerful.
He must sense my presence because his shoulders tense, but he doesn't turn around.
"Get out," he says.
"This is my household. I go where I please."
"Then I'll get out."
"Stay." One word, but I put command behind it.
He freezes, water lapping at his waist. Slowly, so slowly, he stands and turns to face me.
I've seen naked males before. My household has more than several. But none of them look like this. None of them make my breath catch in my throat.
Oliver is beautiful in a raw, untamed way. The sparse hair on his chest, the line of muscles down his abdomen, the thick cock half hard despite his anger…or perhaps because of it.
His eyes meet mine. "Enjoying the view?"
"Yes," I answer honestly.
That seems to catch him off guard. His bravado falters for just a moment before reasserting itself. "Well, get your fill. Because I'm not performing for you."
"You will." I move closer to the edge of the pool, close enough he could grab me if he wanted. Close enough to be reckless. "Eventually, you'll do everything I ask. You'll kneel when I tell you to kneel. You'll spread your legs when I want to feed. You'll beg me for release."
"Fuck you."
"Perhaps. If you earn it."
His cock twitches at that, hardening further despite the fury on his face. He sees me looking and turns away again, presenting his back.
"I'm not doing this," he says, his voice rough. "I don't care what you paid for me. I don't care what you think you own. I will not be your...your toy."
"You're right." I remove my tunic, the fabric whispering as it falls to the floor. "You're not a toy. You're food. Sustenance. Essential for my survival."
I hear his sharp intake of breath as I step into the pool wearing only my breast binding and undergarments. The water is hot against my skin, almost too hot, but I welcome the burn.
"What are you doing?" Oliver demands, still not looking at me.
"Bathing you properly. Healer Madris will tend your wounds after." I pick up a soft cloth and soap, working it into a lather. "Turn around."
"No."
My patience, already stretched thin from the auction and the journey home, frays. "Oliver. Turn around."
"Make me."
The words hang in the steam between us. A challenge. One I should ignore, one I should handle with the cool authority befitting my station.
Instead, I move through the water until I'm directly behind him. Close enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides.
"You're testing me," I say quietly. "Why?"
"Because fuck you, that's why." But there's less heat in it now, more exhaustion.
I reach up and place the soapy cloth on his shoulder. He flinches but doesn't pull away. Slowly, I begin washing him, my movements methodical and firm. Down his shoulder blades, along his spine, across the breadth of his back.
He shivers despite the hot water.
"You're afraid," I observe.
"I'm not afraid of you."
"No. You're afraid of yourself. Of what you might feel." My hand slides lower, to the small of his back. "Of what your body already knows it wants."
"You know nothing about me." His voice is hoarse.
"I know you're aroused. I know your cock is hard right now, aching, desperate despite your protests." I lean closer, my lips nearly touching his ear. "I know when I finally wrap my hand around you and milk you for the first time, you're going to come so hard you'll forget your own name."
A shudder runs through him, violent and unmistakable. His breathing has gone ragged.
"I hate you," he whispers.
"I know." I move back, putting distance between us again. "Turn around. Let me see your face."
This time, he obeys. His eyes are dark with conflict, arousal, anger. His cock juts from his body, thick and flushed. He doesn't try to hide it anymore.
"Why did you buy me?" he asks suddenly. "You could have gotten someone more...compliant."
"I don't want compliant." I wash his chest, the cloth sliding over hard muscle. "I want challenge. I want fire."
"Why?"