Jealousy and Soulmates
Dominic
“Sir,” Jorin interrupted, his voice starkly contrasting with the club’s charged atmosphere.
Jorin, the one minion who sought me out after I was cast into the human realm, stood beside me. He had been unwavering in his loyalty, insisting I’d always be his prince despite my fall from the ethereal plane. To him, I wasn’t just Dominic, a low-level sex demon, but Domi’zel, Prince of the Ethereal Plane. His loyalty was a rare constant in my tumultuous existence.
My attention, however, was riveted on the chained man before me. I didn’t want to look away now, of all times. The submissive man bound to the St. Andrew’s cross was marked so well. The red welts painting his back contrasted his milky flesh beautifully. And what’s more, his moans of ecstasy as the whip stung his flesh had me hard as a rock.
“Sir,” Jorin tried again, more insistently this time.
“What?” I snapped, not appreciating the interruption, especially at the height of this particular scene.
Jorin, usually unflappable even after centuries by my side, shifted uneasily. His eyes darted around the dim room, from the gleaming leather and metal equipment to the shadows, where others watched and participated in their own dark fantasies.
“Jorin?” My voice dropped to a lethal whisper, sharp enough to cut through the moans and cries permeating the air. “You’ve served me for ages. It’s unlike you to disturb me during my… recreation.”
The petite blond that was servicing my cock stopped at my tone. His slight blue eyes peered up at me in fear.
“Did I tell you to stop?” I snapped, smacking his bare ass. The sound reverberated through the room, matching the current crack of the whip. The pretty twink instantly slipped my hard cock back into his mouth.
I looked back at Jorin, and his pale eyes met mine. A spark of genuine worry flickered within them. “I know, Master Dominic, but there are four large lion shifters here demanding an audience with you.”
I chuckled. It appeared that my text had caused a stir. In truth, I did it just because I was bored. I loved the fact that Jake was so innocent, and as a sex demon, I yearned for that innocence so I could corrupt it. Seeing Jake flustered, I had to mess with him and the overprotective lion.
“Sir,” Jorin’s words trembled.
“Show them in,” I said with a flick of my hand.
Jorin nodded and quickly left the room. I leaned back and moaned as the little blond took me down to the root. Not many could take my thick cock all the way. Thank fuck, he doesn’t have a gag reflex, I thought.
“Master Dominic, the lions of the Satchel Pride!” Jorin’s voice cut through my pleasure.
I cracked my eyes and took in the hulking men. My eyes landed on one in particular, and I couldn’t stop my grin.
Things just got interesting.
The man was stunning. He was at least six foot two, maybe three or four, and had broad shoulders. His skin was tanned, a testament to either time spent outdoors or his heritage as a lion shifter. Either way, he was just my type. All this time, I’d thought Fate had abandoned me. To think she’d bless me, the one cast out, with a du?a—a soul.
A low rumbling filled the room, and I stopped my appraisal of the fine specimen in front of me and focused on his eyes. I could feel the glare and anger radiating off my du?a. Why would he be angry? I thought shifters longed to meet their mate. It was then I realized his focus was on poor Steven in front of me. I couldn’t stop my grin. My du?a was jealous.
Another low growl reached my ears, and I knew I had to get the petite blond out of there. Otherwise, he’d likely be hurt, and I’d have a large lion shifted in my club.
I tapped Steven’s shoulder. “That’s enough. Go find something else to do.”
Steven’s soft blue eyes peered up at me, and he nodded. Not wasting any time, he quickly stood and turned to leave. I watched the little blond run away before turning my gaze back to my soul, my mate.
I gave him a wink and glanced down at my bare lap. “Well? Don’t you think it’s your turn?”
The handsome man scoffed. “I don’t clean up other people’s messes.”
His voice was powerful and deep, and it gave me a thrill. “A shame. I thought lions were good at taking over territories.”
“Only territories worth claiming.” His quick retort stung, especially his emphasis on the word worth.
Was I worthy? No, I couldn’t let him take me down that path. “Ouch, that hurt,” I said sarcastically, bringing my hand to my chest. “You sure you don’t want to claim me?”
The man rolled his eyes. “You’re not my type. Too…theatrical.”
Chuckling, I admired my du?a’s feisty spirit. He was clearly playing hard to get. I hoisted up my pants, zipped them, and confidently approached him.
“You sure about that? My instincts rarely steer me wrong. And right now, they’re saying you’re quite interested,” I said as I trailed my finger over his hard chest.
“Your instincts need recalibrating. I’m not here for a playdate.”
I laughed again. “Everything’s a playdate if you’re in the right mood.”
I was yanked from our charged exchange by an obtrusive throat-clearing—the audacity. “I’m Walter Doy, second in command of the Satchel Pride,” the interloper declared. I glared at the older lion as he continued. “I’m here on behalf of my king.”
Ignoring the old lion’s interruption, I allowed myself a moment of amusement and circled the striking man before me. It felt almost poetic. A chuckle escaped my lips as I indulged in the irony of the situation—like a lion, I stalked, albeit metaphorically, around my potential prey. Each step was measured, a deliberate dance of predator sizing up its catch.
“My king has a message for you,” Walter continued, his tone full of anger and distaste.
Ignoring Walter’s authoritative tone, I circled closer to my du?a, the man who unwittingly held my interest. “What’s your name?” I asked, leaning in, my breath teasing the skin on his neck. The air was thick with tension, my question hanging between us like a challenge.
“My second is speaking,” he said through clenched teeth.
“I’d rather hear you speak. What’s your name?” I played my fingers on his neck. He stiffened beneath my touch.
“We are here on important matters.”
Walter interjected, but I held up a hand. “Not until I know his name,” I said firmly, keeping my focus on my du?a.
My mate’s response was a low growl, his eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and curiosity. “Tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine,” he countered, the heat in his gaze igniting an unfamiliar thrill in me.
“Dominic,” I replied, though his demand for my true name sent a jolt of unease through me. The name ‘Domi’zel’ echoed in my mind, a remnant of a past I wasn’t ready to confront.
The intensity in my du?a’s eyes faltered, replaced by a flicker of understanding. “Your real name,” he pressed, his voice a deep rumble that resonated within me.
The walls of the club seemed to close in, the memories and pain associated with my true name clawing at the edges of my composure. “Maybe in time,” I deflected, stepping back to regain control of the moment.
Walter’s patience snapped. “Enough of this,” he snarled, his warning clear. “Stay away from the pride, or there will be consequences.”
My amusement returned as I casually took my seat, my gaze never leaving Talon. “No promises there.” There was no way I could stay away from my du?a now that I found him.
“If you attack Mike—”
“I have no interest in Mike, or Jake, for that matter.” I waved a dismissive hand. “They’re of no interest to me. My actions were mere… boredom.”
Walter’s confusion was almost comical. “So, you agree to stay away?”
I laughed, a sound that echoed off the walls. “From Mike and Jake, yes. But not from all your members.” My eyes locked onto my mate, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air.
My soul’s expression hardened, a silent battle playing out in his eyes. It was clear; this game was far from over.
Walter’s expression hardened, and he stepped forward. “You are to stay away from the entire pride. You don’t want to mess with the Satchel Pride. This is your one warning.”
Walter signaled to leave, and I cast one last glance at my soulmate, the pull between us an undeniable force. This encounter, however brief, had changed everything—a game had begun, and I was intent on playing to win.
Jorin reentered with concern etched on his face. “Is everything alright, sir?”
I leaned back, a sense of satisfaction washing over me. “Everything is perfect, Jorin. Just perfect.”
“But the lions?” he queried, his eyes betraying his worry.
A laugh escaped my lips, filled with excitement and anticipation. “They won’t be a problem. In fact, I anticipate we’ll become quite… acquainted.”
As Jorin left, I mused to myself. A smirk played on my lips. Fate, you devious mistress, you’ve just made this all the more interesting.