Chapter 8
eight
EVEREST
Slowly moving toward consciousness, my limbs feel heavy, like someone laid a forty-pound weighted blanket on me. Yeah, I’ll get used to ruenox my tight little ass.
I mean, okay, the effects aren’t as bad in the moments after I come down, but waking up the next day isn’t easy. My dick is aching, my balls feel like empty husks, and every muscle in my body feels weak. I’m pretty sure I’m going to become nutrient-deficient if Rathyn isn’t careful.
If he isn’t—
Oh god. Rathyn.
The night before comes back to me in little fits and bursts. The Vyastil commander.
The monster.
My monster, apparently.
Taking a deep breath and rolling over, I realize two things in quick succession: one, these aren’t my pillows, and two, this isn’t my bed. I sit up with a gasp, relieved to find I’m alone, but distressed to see that I’m fully naked.
I glance around, half-panicked because I can’t remember shit after the third orgasm. Or was it the fourth?
The fifth?
Fuck. I lost count.
I remember knowing I wanted to go home after he was finished with me and the ruenox effects had worn off.
I have a hazy memory of telling him I wanted to leave, though that might have been a hallucination considering the way he can slip into my mind without warning, but I know for a fact I didn’t want to stay here.
You know, in this posh-as-fuck loft with the monster I apparently signed my life away to.
Taking a breath, I drop my feet over the edge of the bed and look around. This can’t possibly be his room. It’s small and nondescript, with a basic bedroom set that could have come from IKEA.
Considering how fussy he is, I doubt he shops for cheap Swedish furniture.
In the corner of the room, there’s a closet door halfway open, and inside, the shelves are empty. He doesn’t wear a lot of clothes around me, but he does wear some, so this must be the guest space.
It’s a little odd to think about him having guests over, but stranger things have happened. Like me, signing my dick away to use as his own personal cum bank.
I shove thoughts about last night out of my head and stretch my back as I wonder where the hell he is.
And it doesn’t take him long to answer—though it’s annoying that his voice comes through my head instead of calling for me.
“I am here, little human.”
His voice causes an instant, pulsing headache that’s gone as quickly as it appeared. It wasn’t like that before. Maybe it’s some kind of hangover from the ruenox.
“Can you not speak to me this way?” I answer back, irritated, then add, “Are you in your apartment?”
He doesn’t answer. Malicious compliance, I suppose.
I have a feeling he’s good at that. I glance around for clothes, but the most I can find is a very sheer robe hanging on the inside of the bathroom door.
The sight of the toilet reminds me I need to go, so I hover over the bowl, one hand on the wall, the other massaging my poor, sore dick.
God, I feel so strangely empty.
The moment I finish, I wash my hands with an odd-smelling, pearly soap, then stare at myself in the mirror.
I don’t look any different now that I’ve officially become his. Not really.
I’m a bit more tired than usual, but considering how much of my cum he’s consumed over the last week, I’m probably protein-deficient or something.
I wet my hands again, then rake them through my hair in a sorry attempt to look presentable, before wrapping the robe around myself. It leaves literally nothing to the imagination. It’s not even warm.
When I glance back in the mirror, I can see my nipples through it. And my pubes. And definitely my dick.
Fantastic.
It takes a bit of courage for me to venture out, but eventually I find him in the living room, sitting in an oversized chair beside his floor-to-ceiling window. It has a gorgeous view of the town, which only money can buy around here, though I have no idea if the Vyastil actually pay for anything.
He looks softer than usual. His shoulders aren’t as straight and tense, and he’s toying with a long lock of hair that’s come loose from his bun.
He doesn’t look over at me when I approach, but he does hum softly like he’s acknowledging my presence.
“What am I doing here?”
He finally glances over, and his gaze lingers on my chest before he turns it back out the window. “I thought that much was obvious. You slept. It seemed pointless to wake you only to drag you back a few hours later.”
“Drag me ba—dude,” I say, throwing up my hands. “No. I’m fine with being your personal cum bank, but you’re not dragging me anywhere.”
He huffs and stands, his limbs moving gracefully and fluidly. I take a step back, and he follows, reaching out his long finger to tip my chin up. “I was not being literal.”
How the hell was I supposed to know he discovered metaphors? “Fine, whatever. You still haven’t answered my question. Why am I here?”
“You’re required to sign a new contract if you are to be mine.”
He’s said that before—called me his. I thought it was just him being possessive, but the way he says it now makes me think there’s more to it. More…legal implications.
“What kind of contract?”
“If you wish to be compensated,” he starts, but stops when I choke on my tongue.
“Wait. So…I’m going to get paid?”
He looks somewhat startled at my question. “Did you not tell me you require enough money to live?”
“Yeah, but I have a job,” I remind him. A shitty job, but still. It pays the bills.
Mostly.
“I have seen what you do. I would hardly call that work,” he says. His finger drags along the underside of my chin, and I can’t help but shiver at the way he touches me. “Regardless, a companion contract between us is necessary. For your protection and mine.”
I let out a slow breath and realize this is the government we’re talking about. Right? This has to be some sanctioned position by the higher-ups who agree to let the occasional Vyastil take a human they…
Well, I don’t want to say like.
Get addicted to?
Possessive over?
“Fine. When do we sign it?”
“Now,” he tells me. “We will go to your City Hall and meet with an overseer. They will explain everything.”
I almost choke on my own tongue. “Uh, hold up. I can’t just go now. I need a shower. And food. And preferably a shitload of coffee because I’m a walking zombie thanks to your fucking herb.”
He eyes me for a beat. “We can delay a few minutes.”
I step away from him, then freeze. “I also need clothes. I can’t wear my Frankly Delicious uniform to a government meeting.”
He frowns. “There is nothing wrong with what you’re wearing now.”
“What? Dude! You can see my dick!” His eyes flicker down toward it, and I cover it with both hands. “Stop that! It’s not for ogling.”
“No.” His voice drops to a low growl, and he steps close, backing me against the wall. “It is meant for sucking.”
I put both hands on his chest and push, but he doesn’t move. Fuck, he’s strong. “You can’t suck it now.” My voice goes wobbly. “We have…things to do. Meetings to attend. And I have a shift tonight—”
“You do not.”
“Uh, yeah. I do. Like I said, I have a job—”
“As I said,” he interrupts, “you are being compensated for this. Your former job working at the meat factory—”
“Hot dog stand,” I correct, trying not to die right where I’m standing.
He hums as he holds my gaze prisoner. “—is no longer necessary. I have taken the liberty of sending your uniform away. This,” he tugs on the sleeve of the robe, “will suffice.”
“Oh hell no,” I spit, shoving at him with all my strength. He takes half a step back, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because of me. “I’m not going in this. Real clothes, or you can forget this whole thing.”
His eyes glint, and a growl starts in his chest, moving up his throat. For a moment, I wonder just how dangerous he is. He’s absolutely fucking terrifying with the way his eyes seem to glow and his fangs touch his lip.
But I’m frozen to the spot, helpless to do anything as he leans in and his sharp teeth scrape my throat. He breathes in deep, and despite my absolute terror, my cock gets hard.
“I will procure something from another human in the building. And you,” he adds, pulling back to meet my eyes, “will cease arguing with me.”
Fat fucking chance, I think, but I feel like this is the best I’m going to get.
“Fine. But I also want food and coffee. I can’t survive off bodily fluids like you.”
He huffs but says nothing, and he doesn’t stop me as I duck under his arm and hurry back toward the bedroom so I can shower. I’m a little terrified about what he’s going to consider food, clothes, and coffee, but I’ll take a compromise if it means we get this over with.
After all, he’s clearly not going to relent, and it seems like compromise is the only way the two of us are ever going to get along.
And as the seconds tick by, I start to realize I may be giving up a lot of my freedom for him, and that is not the best feeling in the world. I spent half my life being trapped by my aunt and uncle, and now I’m about to get into an equally restrictive contract with a monster?
The very thing they claimed they were protecting me from?
It’s a bit ironic, but at least in this case I’m getting paid. And while I have no idea how long these contracts will last, Rathyn doesn’t seem like the type of being who will stay interested in me for long.
If I’m lucky, I’ll spend a few years with him and pad a nice savings account for when it’s over. If I’m not, well…that’s a problem for future Everest to deal with.
I flick the Edison filament lights on and stare at myself in the mirror. I’m slightly pale, but there’s a flush in my cheeks. Probably from being so close to Rathyn.
My subconscious must remember what he did to me last night in graphic detail, even if my conscious memory is a blurry mess.
Walking toward the large walk-in shower, I glance over at the frameless glass panels, then turn my gaze longingly toward the black-iron soaking tub.
Fuck, that looks nice. A long, hot soak would be amazing on my sore muscles.