Chapter 31
Grimes
“Morning, Boss.”
I’m ready for Florian’s sun-bright greeting this morning.
I turn over and smile at him, holding out my arm so he can snuggle into the crook of my shoulder.
He settles there, content, as I nuzzle his hair with my nose.
He’s still calling me Boss. We should probably talk about that.
He’s getting more submissive all the time, the more he trusts me, as though his desires are unfurling for me like petals in the sun.
He just needed the right environment, for his needs to be nurtured.
Liked when sudden rains fall on the dormant kive seeds of the Galbravan desert, and the little red flowers spring into life from the dead dust.
Maybe he wants to experience the loving authority he never found in his family.
Or maybe it’s just his nature, the way he feels freest and most himself.
I need to be careful in discussing it. He’s so fragile and bashful about these things, strangely for someone with so much experience.
It makes me feel protective of his emotions, like I’m holding a tiny bird’s egg in my hand.
When he told me he would even forego his own pleasure and go unsatisfied if I asked him to, it stunned me for a moment.
It seemed so at odds with his reputation as a careless playboy, always putting himself first. But of course I’ve known for some time that the image I had of him when we first met was only an illusion.
Now I know the real Florian. Giving me so much control over him in that moment felt like a weight of responsibility that I can’t deserve.
Yet he trusted me with it, and it makes me want to dedicate myself to bringing him as much joy as he can handle.
I never thought I’d enjoy being so dominant, calling all the shots in the bedroom, giving orders, even having my lover call me by an honorific like Boss.
I thought it would feel too much like being an aristocrat.
The class I always resented back in Rhennes for their unthinking power, their expectation of blind obedience, their privilege.
But it doesn’t feel like that at all with Florian.
Not when his submission is freely given.
Not when it makes him feel so safe and loved.
He’s free to rescind it any time. I didn’t ask for it; he offered it like something rare and fragile. And I treasure it.
“So… I notice you’re still calling me Boss,” I say softly.
“Uh-huh,” he answers, his voice disappearing into my shoulder. “Is… that okay?”
“Of course.” I stroke his hair, feeling him relax at my touch.
There’s a long silence. I wait.
“Maybe you think it’s weird,” he says. “I know you’re not really my boss anymore. But it’s just… I don’t know. It’s hot.” He whispers the last work like he’s afraid I’ll recoil.
“It’s hot for me too,” I say.
His arm tightens around me. “It’s not just that.
It’s like… when you won me in that bet, obviously I was mad about it.
I didn’t want to be forced to work for you.
But when I saw how much my help meant to you, and the foundations for the gym were progressing so fast, that felt good.
” He takes a breath and snuggles closer.
“When you tell me to do something and I do it well and you’re proud of me, it makes me feel useful and needed. Like I can actually do something.”
I never thought of that. In my mind, aristocrats imagine honest labor to be beneath them. I never spent a moment imagining they might sometimes feel inadequate because of their lives of luxury.
“And that’s an unusual feeling for you?” I ask gently. “Being useful?”
“I guess. My father hates me, but he still gave me an allowance because it was expected. He couldn’t have people see his son short of money, you know?”
“I know.” I’ve worked with enough aristocrats to get it. Appearance is everything.
“And when I ran through the allowance, he even increased it… until eventually he got tired of that and cut me off. When I got wild enough that no one would blame him. When society was sure I was just a black sheep. Then when I got into gambling debt, it never occurred to me to try to get a job. I just ran out on my obligations.”
He sounds so ashamed of himself. I kiss the top of his head, looking angrily at the scars on his torso.
“Florian, I don’t think anyone would blame you for running, considering the kind of people you were dealing with,” I say.
He peeks up at me, so shy. “Lots of people would blame me.”
“Well, direct them to me and I’ll take care of them. The loan sharks too.”
He laughs at my scowl, tracing a finger over my angry lips. “So fierce. I love it. I bet you’d mess them up for me whether I’m in the right or not.”
“Of course, flower. That’s my job now.”
He looks a little alarmed and a little delighted at the idea. “I was joking. It won’t be necessary. They have no idea where I am. Anyway, I don’t deserve such unwavering devotion.”
“Florian, you really like it when I take charge of you?” I demand.
He flushes. “I really do.”
“I’m going to do it again now, if that’s okay.”
“Okay,” he whispers, looking at me with big eyes.
“I’m going to make you repeat something after me. Can you do that?”
He nods.
“Repeat after me, I’m beautiful and kind and clever, and I deserve the world.”
He dips his head, hiding behind a curtain of dark hair. “Boss, no. I can’t say that.”
“Yes, you can. Go on.” I lift his chin, forcing him to look at me. “I’m your boss, remember.”
He stays silent, looking unsure.
“Regretting asking me to dominate you?” I ask with a smile.
“I didn’t realize you’d bully self-esteem into me.”
“Yep. Until you see yourself like I do. Now say it.”
He takes a deep breath, and, adorably, takes both of my hands for support. “Okay. Here goes. I’m… I’m beautiful and I deserve the world.”
“You missed and kind and clever. Start over.”
“Stars, you’re such a dictator.” He rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t tell me to stop being his dictator either. “I’m- I’m beautiful and kind and clever, and I deserve the world.”
“Better,” I say. “Now give me a kiss.”
That’s an order he’s happy to obey. His lips are soft and receptive and perfect.
My heart is full as I hold him. If someone had told me a few months ago that I’d be taking on a spoiled, subby aristocrat with daddy issues, I would’ve laughed at them and then run for the hills.
Now I can’t imagine ever letting him go.
I want to protect him from the world and build up his confidence ounce by ounce until he forgets his father and those loan sharks and anyone else who ever made him feel small.
“I still can’t believe you’re letting me hold you like this,” I say. “After what I did to you. Making you my servant. Extracting all that labor from you.”
He wriggles out of my grip, looking exasperated. “Not this again. I could say the same thing, you know. You’re letting me hold you after I sent you to prison.”
“You didn’t mean to.”
“Even so, I did it. And you thought I did it on purpose. You know what they say?” He gives me an unusually piercing look. “You should judge a man not by how he treats his equals, but by how he treats his enemies and people under his power?”
I take a moment to digest that mammoth sentence. “Yes?”
“Well, you passed that test,” he says.
“I really don’t think I did, Florian.”
“Think about it. Even when you hated me, you treated me well. You didn’t make me work any harder than you. You gave me a plenty of food, a bed… there was a point I was afraid you would make me sleep on a pile of straw on the floor.”
A guilty laugh escapes me. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, this isn’t helping.”
He strokes my face, gazing into my eyes. I think I could stare into those blue depths for years without getting bored.
“It should make you feel better, Grimes,” he says, sending a shiver up my spine as he says my name. “I ruined your life, and still the worst thing you did to me was, what, make me dig foundations? Sorry, but you lack the evil imagination I’d expect from a proper villain.”
I blink away an irritating moisture at my eyes and try to join in with his kidding.
“So you’re saying that I didn’t scare you?” I say.
He giggles, and it’s like music filling my dingy, bare bedroom. “Maybe at first, you did. But I soon realized your bark was worse than your bite.”
He smiles wide, holding out his arms to me, decadent and expecting to be spoiled. I obediently rush to embrace him. Never mind all the Boss talk, I’ll jump to attention at his slightest invitation.
“Listen, I have an idea,” I tell him.
I get out of bed and go over to my desk, my legs heavy with sleep and the remembrance of last night’s pleasure.
I open a drawer and take out a couple of pieces of paper.
The contract of Florian’s indentured servitude, the one I ripped up.
I haven’t thrown away the pieces yet. I wasn’t sure what to do with them.
But now I have the perfect idea. I grab a box of matches and a big fireproof bowl.
Florian watches me curiously, propped up on his elbows.
I strike a match and light the papers on fire.
It takes a moment to catch, then flares up and quickly burns down to nothing. Just ash.
“Why don’t we put the ashes in two lockets?” I say. “As a symbol.”
“A symbol of what?”
“That every day you stay with me is because you’re choosing to, not because you have to.”