Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
Stepping up to him, hold his gaze while buckling the collar around his neck.
I fasten the leash to it, moving back to meet his gaze once more.
His face is flushed, and my eyes travel down the pink that’s crawling up his neck from his chest, appreciating the black leather of the collar biting into his slightly tanned complexion—the collar I gave him years ago.
JC… Property of The Ivory
My gaze slides further, over his chest, the pert in his nipples, stuffed with steel barbells. For me to connect the chains…
When I peek below his waist, I find his erection standing full. Swollen tip with another piercing beneath it. Balls visibly tight.
A quiet breath leaves me, and I swallow a mouthful of saliva before returning to his face, finding it flushing much deeper now. He’s turning red from the shame of this already. And we’ve just gotten started.
Gripping the leash in my fist, I grunt, “On your knees.”
He falls to kneel before me, the tightened leash choking him a bit. He grunts, coughing when I pull tighter. “Get lower… Show me how you beg for my forgiveness, perro malo.”
In an instant, he’s on his stomach, nuzzling on my legs, my shoes, whimpering as he goes. Kissing my feet while mumbling, “I’m sorry,” over and over.
“Are you sorry?” I hiss, and he nods. “Really?”
“Yes. Really,” he breathes.
The way he says this tickles the pit of my stomach. It’s… confusing.
I yank him back by the leash, get him on his back and stand over him.
Unbuckling my belt, I slip it free from its loops. I’m outside of myself as I whip him, all over his thickly muscled torso, watching his skin redden and quiver. His chest, abs, pelvis. I hit his thighs and his hips, and when I get his dick by accident, he moans, a pulse of arousal seeping out.
I have to pause, gasping for air because I’m overcome with a fierce urge to slip below his waist and… lap it up. To suck him into my mouth and worship him with my lips and my tongue until…
No, wait… No, that’s not…
“Fuck…” I rasp under my breath, dropping the belt.
Before I know what’s happening, I’m on top of him. Straddling his torso and kneeling on his arms to pin them down. Opening my pants with trembling fingers, I pull my cock out, grabbing his jaw hard. “Open.” I give him a look until he parts his lips. “Wider.”
Nudging my dick up to his quivering lips, I drag the head over them while he shudders, shoving it down his throat, in one thrust.
Smacking his face with my palm while I fuck in and out of his mouth, rough and deep.
“You want mercy, my pet?” I snarl.
He gargles and groans.
I get higher on my knees, fucking his face so hard there are tears tumbling down his cheeks. But his lashes are fluttering, eyes rolling back in his head.
Peering over my shoulder, I see his fingers digging into the carpet, as if he’s using all of his strength to keep from touching himself. Or me…
I’m in a haze, eyes stuck on his erection; so long and tumescent where it’s resting on his abs, leaving a puddle in his navel. Fisting him by the hair, I pump my cock in rough, watching in fascination as his dick bobs. Moving, twinging and leaking.
He’s so… aroused by this.
Fuck me… Dios…
I imagine him gripping my hips, helping me move. I imagine turning around, to suck him while he sucks me. I imagine him finally overpowering me, tearing my pants down, bending me over and—
Snarling out loud at the insanity in my head, I grab him by the throat. “If you come, I swear to God…” My voice is ragged, because I’m about to come, and it’s too soon.
And I have no idea what the end of that threat was supposed to be…
What am I doing?
I’m losing control…
He groans something I obviously can’t understand, squirming beneath me.
I’m dizzy, holding his throat while I ride it, fucking and fucking, growling and thrusting, my balls tapping his chin.
“You are mine,” I thunder, cracking down the middle. “You are my property, do you understand me? Necessitas esto… Quieres esto.”
He’s bucking as if he can’t breathe. But it doesn’t matter.
I’m… almost… there…
I grunt, forcing away everything but aggression, domination, and possession. “Take my mercy like a good boy.” My voice tremors, and I gasp.
But I can barely hear myself. I can barely process what’s happening.
I’m just coming down his throat, shooting in him so deep, it must be pouring into his stomach.
Feeding my pet…
My… sweet… good… boy.
Baby, let me…
I stumble away from him fast, leaving him lying there, gasping for air, with tear-stained cheeks and a giant erection. My head is spinning as I leave my office, the black lump in my chest racing. I’m burning up and itchy beneath my skin. I don’t understand it…
How an orgasm could leave me feeling so desperately unfulfilled.
It haunts me all night. The desire to go back…
For the next two days, I stay holed up in the mansion, depressed and unable to fathom why.
It makes no sense…
Why does it feel like I made a mistake?
Why does it feel like all I’ve been doing for ten years is making mistakes with him…?
I’m not supposed to be uncertain, goddammit.
By day three of hiding out, I decide to do something. I just can’t sit in this mansion anymore, and I sure as shit can’t avoid my Head Officer forever.
I call Kent in and arrange to order something special.
It takes me hours and hours to pick out the perfect one, customized and intricately designed. And it takes another couple of days to arrive, but when it does, I have Kent drop it off inside the old armory.
Maybe it could be his own little… fortress of solitude. If he wants.
I truly detest the feeling of uncertainty while I wait for him to come meet me.
When he arrives, his eyes land on the bike, and they stay on it. Just… staring.
“For you,” I hum, fighting not to fidget in place. His gaze springs to mine. “It’s a Harley, custom-made. I remembered you mentioning that you… always wanted one.”
He still hasn’t spoken, and it’s weaving my gut into tight knots. We end up staring at one another for a few more heavy seconds, during which I’m questioning everything.
“Why…?” He finally asks. Face unreadable.
“Because I… need you,” I choke out, clearing my throat. “Too. I need you too. We’ve been together a long time, Jonathan…”
He makes a face like he isn’t sure what I’m saying, and I step forward, urging on bravado.
“I’m not sure I deserve it.” His voice comes out so soft, it’s almost childlike.
Something about it is familiar. This seemingly unnatural desire to… care for someone.
Shaking it off, I force a curve of my lips. “You do. Trust me..” I take his hand in mine, placing the keys in his palm. “Happy… anniversary, Jonathan. Ten years…”
An entire decade, and you haven’t tried to kill or leave me yet…
He sucks in a breath, still so serious as he stares deep into my eyes. Not wavering, just searching. For what, I can’t be sure. But it’s severely unsettling.
I don’t think there’s a human being alive who could stand to uncover what’s at my core… buried beneath far too many hardened layers of molten evil.
Maybe someone headstrong, stubborn… foolish.
Too loyal for their own good.
“That is a long time,” he whispers.
A slight chuckle puffs from me, and it finally gets him to crack a smile.
“Are you going to take her for a spin or what?” I cock my brow at him.
At last, he assesses the motorcycle like it’s his, running his fingers over the handlebars. He throws a leg over, straddling it.
He looks almost too good on that thing…
My face tilts, but I catch myself before I can ogle his backside.
“I thought you were gonna get me a Rolls.” He smirks, starting the engine.
Thankfully, the uncertainty in my tone is hidden by the roar, “Next anniversary, I promise.”
It’s dark out when the motorcycle finally goes quiet. But he still doesn’t show up. Not for a while.
Even Steve Islo comes to check in before Jonathan does. And I know he’s just a patsy, but this is his fault too, on some level.
Why wasn’t he watching the cameras?? Why does the footage of Dascha just sort of cut out…? Was he tampering with the recordings, or is he just so inept that he allowed someone else to do it on his watch?
So much incompetence. I simply cannot let this slide.
Someone will need to be punished for this.
I understand why he’s taking so long… Of course I do. He’s likely replaying twelve years of punishments, of groveling and mercy, and pleading.
Or maybe he’s also recalling the other times. Occasional flickers of something else…
It’s been nearly three years since I gave him that bike. And here we still are, so much further from where we started, but somehow in exactly the same place.
I’m patiently waiting, making and taking calls, as I do. As if nothing has changed, when it most certainly has.
Governor Russo calls me to mention something about the funding, but I’m barely listening. I’m busy remembering something that happened a few weeks ago… The night of the storm.
Byron needed his Michelangelo, if only just for the night.
Dascha needed his own shadow man. His Officer, who left him alone when he really should have stayed.
As it turns out, proxy is just as entertaining when I’m bestowing it upon others, no matter how unsuspecting, or even unconscious they are to it.
Surely toying with human lives shouldn’t be this much fun, but it is and I can’t help that.
This life, my life… It isn’t real. It’s the facade that I’ve built, an empire of manipulation and trickery. This isn’t me doing these things… It’s The Ivory.
The smug, cynical sociopath with no regard for human life. That’s me, because it’s who I have to be. I’m not Manuel Blanco… I haven’t been him for a long time.
I’m not the good king, like my father wanted me to be.
I’m El Diablo.
The monster who killed Angelito’s parents right in front of him. That is who I am, nothing more than a villain on a throne of deceit.
And when I finally hear the trudging footsteps, marching up to seal his fate, I’m at ease, assured. For better or worse, this is how it must be. Of that, I am certain.