SUN #15
To my shock, my cock starts to fill with blood, completely against my will, without any arousal. It’s a weird, almost unpleasant sensation because there’s no actual readiness in me, and the tissue doesn’t feel receptive. I grit my teeth, trying to push through the discomfort.
A moment later, I’m rock hard. I let out a breath through clenched teeth. My hands are cuffed in front of me, which makes it awkward to open the condom and roll it on. I’m not good at this, I never do it, so it takes a minute. I wrestle with the tight latex, clearly sized for Summer, not me.
Finally, I manage. I step behind Anzo, using his jacket for balance, my fingers gripping the hem. I press the tip of my dick to his hole.
I clench my teeth harder, then push in, not gently. That bastard doesn’t deserve gentle, not after what he did to me and Summer.
Anzo grunts, but surprisingly, he doesn’t fight it.
With a cruel little smirk, I tighten my grip on his jacket and start fucking him.
To my huge relief, I feel nothing. Like I’m plunging into a vacuum. No resistance, no friction, just emptiness. It’s bizarre, but now I understand why Summer never finishes. There is no sensation!
Anzo, though, definitely feels something.
His breathing quickens. So I pick up the pace.
I thrust into him faster, half-heartedly aiming for his prostate.
The table creaks beneath us from the force, but he doesn’t stop me, and clearly is fine with it.
It takes maybe three or four minutes of steady pounding before I notice something shifting.
I don’t feel his walls tightening, Summer’s magic still shields me, but I just know he’s coming. He lets out a low gasp, and then after a moment, lifts his hand to stop me.
I freeze, then slowly pull out.
Almost immediately, the pressure in my lower belly fades, and my dick goes soft. I peel off the empty condom and take a step back.
I feel a little sick. Dizzy. I don’t know if it’s from having such an amount of my blood suddenly and artificially forced downward for a few minutes, or just because this entire situation is so absurd, so far removed from anything remotely arousing or erotic.
This wasn’t sex. It was a task, as if using a dildo. Something I did because I had to, because I owed Summer.
He saved me half an hour of hell, so I gave him thirty minutes of peace in return.
Anzo, still bent over the table, tugs his pants back up, fastens them, and only then straightens. His face is flushed and lightly sweaty. His usually slicked-back hair is in a bit of disarray. He glances at the condom, noticing it’s empty, and then looks at me. His black eyes drill into mine.
"Not bad. Now tell me, how’d you get yourself hard?"
Only a lie can save me. But it has to be a clever lie. Something I can use again if he expects this from me in the future.
"I imagined Summer fucking me."
His eyebrows lift slightly. He turns his head toward his husband, almost curiously, assessing him.
Summer seems even more stiff. Well, he’s objectively attractive.
He has a nice ass, round and full, a thin waist, and quite sexy, puffy nipples, but these are features usually appreciated on omegas, and it’s not what I look for.
I prefer more… impressive, muscular bodies, more of a rough type, a different energy.
"That worked? Thought you said you weren’t into omegas."
"I’m not. But he is the only person in that room I don’t hate. And he’s easy on the eye, objectively speaking."
He holds my gaze.
"Fair." His mouth twists into a cold smile. "You just got yourself a new job. Summer can thank you… for temporary leave from his duties."
I hesitate. This could be my only chance.
"Can I ask you for something in return? Actually… two things."
Anzo lets out a short, incredulous laugh, tossing his head back slightly. "You’re joking, right?"
"Just let me say what they are," I plead, not dropping my gaze.
He crosses his arms slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "Fine. Let’s hear it."
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, feeling stupidly exposed, like any softness in my voice might make me sound weak. But I press on.
"First… I want my harp. The one from the dorm. I used to play it at night, when I was feeling shitty. And now I feel like that all the damn time."
His eyes narrow slightly.
"And second… I want access to the inner garden. Just sometimes. The air in my room is thick, moldy almost. I can’t breathe in there. This whole fortress reeks."
Anzo tilts his head, face unreadable. For a few seconds he doesn’t say anything, just watches me, his black eyes flicking briefly to my mouth, then back to my eyes.
Neither request is outrageous. He knows it.
"I might agree to that," he says slowly, tapping a finger against his bicep. "But only if you play for my guests in a week. There’s a banquet, here in the central garden."
I blink at him. "You want me to perform for your guests?"
He smiles, that cold, slick smile that never quite touches his eyes.
"I’ll get you something nice to wear. A Greek-style outfit. You’ll look like a golden-haired Apollo strumming his harp. Very aesthetic. My guests will love it."
I stare at him, jaw clenched. "And then they’ll all want to fuck me?"
Anzo snorts. "Please. It’s not an orgy or a gangbang in some underground BDSM club. It’s a business gathering. You’ll survive."
I exhale through my nose, my arms still stiff at my sides.
"Fine. I’ll play."
He gives a single approving nod, just as footsteps echo in the hallway beyond the door. Must be Matteo.
"How do you even summon him like that?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. "He always shows up exactly when you want him to."
Anzo quirks an eyebrow, then, almost smugly, he raises a finger from his mechanical hand and taps it lightly against his temple, where a small metal plate gleams against his skin.
"I’m basically a cyborg, pet. I’m connected to several systems in this house."
His tone is flat, but his smirk is unmistakable. It’s the kind of detail he wants me to remember, a flex disguised as a casual fact.
Then he turns abruptly, as if remembering something, and slips his hand into his pocket. When he pulls it out, he's holding a printed photograph.
He hands it to me without a word.
I freeze the moment I see what’s on it.
Dogger.
My ex-boyfriend's arm is draped around some blond omega, whose rounded belly makes everything inside me tighten like a fist.
I stare.
"What the fuck is this?" I breathe. "Why are you showing me this? I didn’t ask for it."
Anzo shrugs with maddening impassivity.
"I thought it might entertain you."
My stomach drops. My fingers go numb. The photo slips from my hand and flutters to the floor.
The room spins a little. There’s a high, dull buzzing in my ears.
Anzo chuckles.
And I hate him, just a little bit more than I did a minute ago.