Chapter 12 Griffin
GRIFFIN
Iwanted, so badly, to take his cock into my hand. I wanted to feel it in my fist, to stroke him again and leave him whimpering — to see the tears in his eyes all over again as he shamefully responded to my touch.
But he didn’t want it, and I found myself caring about that every bit as much as I hadn’t cared whether he’d wanted to blow me or not. It was painful, because I’d thought we were making strides when he’d sucked me, licked me, worshiped me.
When his cock had gotten hard from it.
It hurt to find things hadn’t changed nearly as much as I’d wanted them to, but at the same time, something had shifted. I could either push and risk him resenting me, or I could let it go. I didn’t want to. I wanted to take him into my hand or even into my mouth. I wanted to bring him pleasure.
I wanted him to want it.
I wanted him to want me.
Time and again, we returned to that. Time and again, I realized he wouldn’t care about me that way — but then, things had already changed so much.
Maybe he could care about me like that if I gave him time.
That was all he asked for, time, and I could push him when I was tired of waiting. I could give him this.
“Okay, Toby,” I said at last. “Okay.”
Over and over, I repeated his true name, the name of the person I wanted rather than the name of the person who’d been a rude little shit to me when he’d first arrived — the young man I’d had to punish over and over again because he hadn’t wanted to learn the rules.
Part of me missed that defiant behavior, but I’d seen flickers of it that I could handle.
Like when he’d insisted upon kitty play.
He shifted, the little bell on his collar ringing merrily. “Thank you,” he said, his voice strangled. He reached up, touching the hickey I’d left, and a surge of pride ran through me.
I’d done that. I’d left that, and he’d allowed it, and he didn’t seem angry about the fact that I’d marked him as mine. It was a pity tattoos were out of the question. I’d have loved to see him with my ink upon his skin, marking him as forever mine.
Maybe one day…
No. I couldn’t think about that possibility. He might settle in and accept his fate, but I couldn’t possibly think that he’d ever want it enough to stay with me of his own accord.
I couldn’t possibly think that he’d ever allow someone to take a needle to his flesh and leave a permanent mark on him, and I couldn’t risk allowing a tattoo artist to discover what I’d done.
But it was something to think about, something to fuel the dreams I had of him.
I reached out to touch the bell, taking it between my fingertips.
He went still, hardly even breathing, as I touched it.
I wasn’t sure what he expected me to do, but I didn’t like that apparently he expected me to do something unwelcome. It wasn’t meant to be like that, not really, but I knew in my heart that this was how it had to be.
He had to remain a little bit frightened of me, or he’d start to defy me again — and I couldn’t handle that. Not then, not ever, not truly.
“All right, kitten,” I said. “Let’s play.”
He might’ve rejected my touch, but he couldn’t reject me completely.
He’d promised he’d be my kitty, and I didn’t take advantage of that nearly often enough.
The ears and tail were one thing, the pretty collar around his throat another, but I wanted more.
I wanted the enthusiasm that came from someone who truly wanted it.
He might not have wanted me, but he’d promised he’d want that. We both knew better. He only wanted it because he thought it was marginally better than being my puppy. That didn’t matter. He’d told me he’d do it, and I was taking him at his word.
He’d been fine with the stick and the feather, and he’d even batted around a ball of yarn the last time we’d played. But this time, I wanted him to put in real effort.
I went to the drawer at the side of the bed where I’d stashed some of the smaller toys, and I pulled out a laser pointer. I pressed the button, watching as the red light dotted the floor.
“Are you ready?” I asked him, experimentally moving it. I wanted to see him chase it like a cat would, to go utterly and completely into the role as he tried to catch the red dot. He knew as a human that it was futile, but if he wanted to play kitty for me, he’d have to act the role.
He nodded. His cock wasn’t hard anymore — which was a pity — but that was probably a good thing. I’d have been too distracted by watching it instead of watching him chase the dot across the floor.
And he would chase that dot.
At first, he only gave a half-hearted swipe at the dot. I frowned at him. That wasn’t acceptable. That wasn’t nearly enough, not when I wanted to see him do more.
He glanced at me, seeing the look on my face, and he put more effort into chasing the dot as I moved it across the floor.
He scrambled across the floor, pawing at it only to see that it disappeared each time.
I chuckled as I watched him. It was almost as good as seeing him chasing around a tennis ball.
Almost, but not quite.
Then again, he was actually doing this.
I moved the pointer, letting the dot shift to the wall. He went after it, and I could see he was starting to get into the game as he gave a good swipe like he was going to catch it.
“Let me see your butt wiggle,” I told him, “before you pounce.”
He cast me a dubious look, but he didn’t argue.
I let the red dot stay in place, watching him as he settled down. He glanced at me again, then reluctantly let his back end wiggle like a cat’s. I grinned as he pounced, letting him “catch” the dot then. “Good kitty,” I told him, my voice warm. “Such a good kitty.”
We played, and he pounced and scampered and chased the dot across the floor and to the walls, up them a little, and back down again as I put it within his reach.
My smile felt unnatural at first, but as I watched him, it became more sincere.
I enjoyed the sight of him playing, even if it wasn’t what I’d wanted.
Maybe it could be, though. Maybe I could learn to want this — just like I wanted him to learn to care for me. I hadn’t ever planned on meeting him halfway, but all of that had changed when he’d made the bold decision to meow at me that day.
Now, we were involved in something else entirely, and I wasn’t sure it was a bad thing.
It felt good seeing him get into the role in a way he’d never done as a pup.
I’d always been able to see the misery written across his features as boldly as if he were screaming.
This time, I didn’t see that unhappiness.
He didn’t really look happy, per se, but he didn’t look downright upset either.
It was like we both forgot who we were for a time. Instead of Griffin and Toby, master and slave, we were pet owner and kitten. We were just there enjoying the game instead of focusing on anything else, and it felt good.
Finally, when he started looking winded, I tucked the laser pointer back into the dresser.
He was breathing hard, sweat beading up on his forehead, and I liked the sight of it. I wanted to always be the one to make him sweat. I wanted to flick my tongue across his skin and taste the salt, to know that I’d fucked him until he was breathless and sweaty beneath me.
I would do it soon enough. I would feel him, tight and hot around my cock, and I’d see him surrender to me…
The thought was a distracting one, and it almost made me forget we were there as something less than lovers.
It was easier to see him as one, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not — but I was erring on the side of not.
If I cared about him too much, I wouldn’t be able to force him into the role he’d chosen after rejecting the one I’d assigned him.
I had to be stern with him, firm, and he had to obey me.
How could he do that if I treated him like a lover instead of a pet? It simply couldn’t happen. This wasn’t a relationship. We weren’t equals. We weren’t a Dom and his sub playing a game.
This was in deadly earnest, and he would never be able to escape my grasp. Not then, not ever.
Possessiveness swept over me like a tidal wave, crashing down until I could barely see through its haze. He was mine — forever and always — and if that meant I occasionally acted like a lover… so be it. There were worse things.
He just had to remember he was mine.
“Who do you belong to?” I asked, gazing down at him.
“You,” he said after a pause.
“You, what?”
He wasn’t my lover. Maybe we both needed a reminder of that.
“You, Master,” he said.
I could see it as the tension returned to him. I hadn’t even realized it had seeped out of him while we’d played until I saw it once more, and there was a part of me that regretted pulling rank on him like that. If I’d realized…
I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted him to submit to me, but at the same time, I didn’t want to see him this way when there was a chance he could be something else for me.
The problem was that I didn’t know what. I’d thought I knew…
I went to him, leaning down and brushing my lips against his. “It’ll be okay,” I told him, and I sincerely meant it in that moment, more so than I had every other time I’d uttered the words. I believed, truly believed, that everything would be fine.
Now I just had to make him believe it.
He looked at me, his expression unreadable.
I stroked his cheek, loving the feeling of his soft skin beneath my fingertips. “It will,” I said, more fervently than usual. “Believe me, Toby.”
He inhaled slowly then nodded. “Okay.”
“Like you believe it,” I said, cupping his cheek then.
He met my eyes, and I could see the defeat in his.
“Shh,” I whispered. “It’ll be all right. Believe me.”
“I believe you,” he said.
He didn’t, but that was okay. If he said it often enough, he’d start to really believe it.
And maybe, just maybe, so would I.