Chapter 7
Spence went into the suite he shared with Zander and pulled his sweater off, his dick already hard in anticipation of the belting he’d earned for a job well done.
Things were always tense when Lucien was on the premises, and Spencer had managed to get Kendra off to Fairbanks to handle some naughty bear shifters while finding a reason to house Lucien with Roman, a vampire who made Spence’s spine vibrate, but he’d been part of the deal when Zander had signed the paperwork to take over the territory.
And really, Kendra spent more time in Fairbanks than she did in Anchorage, these days.
But that was beside the point, which was that she wasn’t here at the same time as Lucien.
Also, that Spence wouldn’t have to deal with Lucien too much, with Roman housing him.
Roman owned three slaves. Actual slaves, with shock collars around their necks to disable them if they got too close to the outer wall of Roman’s massive estate.
Two slaves managed the upkeep of the grounds and cleaned the inside, while the other acted as Roman’s personal assistant.
All were sex and blood slaves, which was why Lucien opted to stay with Roman rather than the coterie house when the offer was made.
Lucien and Roman are the kind of sadist who don’t want their victim to enjoy the pain. At all. Both gave Spence the heebies. He’d encountered entirely too many vampires like them while living in Maryland, before Abbott had acquired him.
To convince Roman to house Lucien, Spence had offered the vampire a sweet deal to go to Mordnik the following year for thirty percent off, and another twenty percent off if he’d provide two of his three slaves to be used in the slave pool for feeding and balls.
It totaled forty-four percent off, enough Spence had needed the okay from their accountants before he could make the offer, but it worked okay because the slaves’ costs were less than they’d have to pay a no-limits shifter.
Plus, they would be housed in Roman’s suite, and he would be responsible for them when they weren’t working.
The asshole had lived in Alaska for nearly a hundred years under three names because he’s a recluse who rarely goes out.
He owns a fleet of fishing and crabbing vessels, and the largest privately owned seafood processing plant in Anchorage, along with other shipping contracts to move things — both legal and illegal — on and off the coast of Alaska.
Lucien, too, was part of the package when Zander had taken on Alaska, but the truth of the matter was that they’d never find someone else who could handle the entire event as well as Lucien.
He had a dozen underlings who dealt with most of the detail work, but Lucien made it all run like clockwork, so other than making the big decisions, Zander only had to step in as Master of Ceremonies and pretend to run everything.
And now, Spence got his reward for keeping Lucien mostly out of the coterie house.
He stood facing the bed, stripped down to nothing, and kept his posture open. Hands relaxed at his sides. Feet planted. Heart already beating harder from the knowledge of what was coming.
There was a pause when Zander entered, then footsteps closer, and the unmistakable swish of the belt sliding free from the loops of Zander’s pants.
Spence breathed in and scented his own arousal as well as that of his Master’s. He exhaled slowly through his nose, grounding himself.
Zander’s voice came soft behind him. “You gave away almost a half-million dollars’ worth of discounts.”
“Technically, Sir, I only gave away two hundred and eighty K. The rest is a wash — slaves who only need minimal supervision are worth the discount given for them.”
Another pause. “So they are.”
A cool hand caressed over his shoulder, down his back, and cupped his ass. He stepped away, and Spence missed his touch. His aura. His energy.
“It’s a lot of responsibility,” Zander said, “knowing your words carry the same weight as mine, but you manage it well. I love you Dearest, but more than that, I’m not sure what I’d do without you.
I’d been dreading having to deal with Lucien underfoot for the five weeks he’ll be here, having to listen to him and Kendra sniping at each other, hoping I could keep it from going farther, and you’ve sent Kendra off for a three week visit to Fairbanks, followed by a one-week trip to Alfheim with Kirsten, so we’ll only have the two of them in the same city for a week. ”
“I did, Sir.”
“And best of all, he’ll be offsite the majority of the time, so I won’t have to deal with him outside of meetings. You are indeed a good boy. The best. Bend over the bed, Dearest. Arms in reverse prayer.”
Spence obeyed, and braced.
The first strike landed like a kiss from a god, stealing the breath from his lungs and lighting his skin on fire. Pain bloomed out from the line of heat, and a second hit chased it before the first could settle. Then a third, the edge of the belt curling around to bite at the front of a hip.
A small noise escaped, but he didn’t move.
Zander struck with methodical precision, each lash directed with purpose. Some on his thighs. Some on his ass. And randomly, some wrapping to the sides, devilishly angled for maximum pain, because Zander didn’t make mistakes with a belt. If it wrapped, it was supposed to.
His spine arched of its own volition, ribs straining against the pressure in his chest, breath caught between scream and surrender.
His knees wobbled, but he stayed upright because this was what he craved.
The pain, the attention, the mastery. Every blow from the belt was a statement: You’re mine.
You did well. Now take what you’ve earned.
And then the belt snapped across the top of his thigh and targeted a testicle. Spence screamed and lifted a single leg, but settled it back down quickly, and his body stayed put.
His entire body shook, his knees threatened to fold, but he stood in place and kept his arms in reverse prayer despite the strain.
Another dozen lashes, harder and faster than the others, and then the belt dropped to the floor along with pants and shirt.
Spence groaned when Zander’s cock speared him, a single thrust that buried him to the hilt, and then he felt a hand on his right upper arm. “Out to the side, Dearest.”
He unwound his arms, held them out to the side as directed, and then the ancient vampire he loved leaned over and struck.
Fangs into his neck without anesthetic, deep into the muscle between Spence’s neck and shoulder.
Spence’s chest rose and fell like he’d run ten miles. His skin was on fire. His cock ached.
This wasn’t gentle drinking. It was brutal, primal, a piercing so deep and sharp it felt like Zander was tapping the soul beneath the flesh, biting into something not meant to be touched.
Cold fangs pierced deep, deeper, and then came the burn, a pulse of pain so hot it roared white behind Spence’s eyes.
His orgasm hit like a thunderclap to the spine, pleasure detonating through muscle and marrow, a shockwave that shattered thought and language.
He lost his breath, forgot his name, his shape — reduced to electric heat and flickering vision, to colors that had no business existing.
Ultraviolet pain streaked with gold, bruised violet bliss spiked with the coppery tang of surrender.
Permission.
The single word telepathed from mind to mind let his balls release, and Spence’s body seized and bucked, tears leaking from his eyes without shame or sound.
His prostate throbbed like a second heart.
His cock jerked again, again, soaking the blankets beneath him while Zander’s weight kept him pinned.
When Zander had drunk his fill, he licked the holes and then lifted Spence the rest of the way onto the bed and laid him out like a feast, a naked offering, wrecked and open. Humbling missionary with eye contact.
He entered him again, folding Spence in half, pressing their bodies together so skin stuck to skin.
Zander fucked him with the kind of ruthless precision only an apex predator with unfathomable skill and power could manage — a rhythm so deep, so merciless, it stripped Spence of the ability to think.
Pain licked at every inch of him. Pleasure coiled low and hot in his gut, blooming outward in waves.
His asshole was on fire after twenty minutes …
completely raw after forty minutes … longer, the lube he’d applied earlier long gone.
Zander ordered three more orgasms from him like they were nothing, and Spence gave them to him, each one torn loose with a strangled cry, his body spasming under the onslaught.
When Zander’s voice dropped and commanded another, molten heat given in a cold order, Spence’s whole body shuddered.
It took everything he had. Willpower, breath control, every shred of discipline he’d ever learned.
He gritted his teeth and forced the orgasm from a body that had nothing left to give.
It tore through him dry — no fluid, just raw nerves firing, muscles seizing, his cock jerking against his own stomach in a rhythm of pure pain. The kind that left him gasping, chest heaving, mind dissolving into white static.
It hurt all the way to his soul, and it was perfect.
The agony curled into his spine and sparked behind his eyes, but it was the kind of pain only the worthy got to feel. Only the owned.
And when Zander came inside him, his insides clenched around his Master’s cock. Zander poured into him with a growl that wasn’t human, a brutal flood of cold power that filled the emptiness. Spence whimpered a soft, broken sound, and held still for it. Let it brand him.
His Master’s release was Spence’s reward. His reminder he’s claimed and loved.
But vampires last forever, and Zander was in his faithful werewolf’s head, forcing yet another release, and this one continued long past what Spence could manage.
The two came together in a brutal, tangled knot of limbs and need, Spence pinned beneath him, Zander driving in so hard the bedframe groaned, pounding until the vampire’s balls were empty and his shaft pulsed one last time inside the quivering mess of Spence’s body.
But it wasn’t over.
A giant, unforgiving plug pressed against his raw entrance.
Spence whimpered, his tone high and sharp, his voice catching in his throat.
He squirmed, hips twitching, instincts screaming no even as his heart whispered yes.
The pressure built. There was no gentleness, no patience, just the relentless push of something too big into a body already fucked far beyond measure.
He squealed and gave a full-body flinch, thighs trembling, muscles fighting the intrusion. But still, he tried to yield. Tried to submit. He knew it would go in with or without his surrender, but if he gave it, truly gave it, his vampire would know, and it would mean everything to both of them.
Total surrender. Total ownership.
Words Zander had once told him echoed in his head: As the root feeds the tree, and the tree gives shelter in return, theirs was a joining beyond description. A union that incorporates function, meaning, and love.
Belonging.
The owned and the owner, not halves of a whole, but co-creators of a single truth: One to command and another to obey. One to consume and the other to be consumed. One to protect, the other to bloom inside the protection.
And then the plug was in, and Spence relaxed into the true reward, being held in Zander’s arms with his lower extremities still on fire — a tangible, raw pulse that was proof he was owned and loved.
Not legally owned anymore, but emotionally. Chains of the heart.
Zander kissed the top of his head. “I feel it too, Dearest. Our hearts are connected, my strong, smart, loving wolf.”
A cool hand cupped his flank, both possessive and protective, fingertips brushing over the welts as if memorizing them by touch. Zander’s breath chilled the back of Spence’s neck, a silent intimacy that said more than words ever could.
Spence closed his eyes and let the words anchor him. Let the heat fade, the high linger, and the ache become the gift he’d craved.
It’d been a while since Zander had shared him with others, and he understood why that was, but…
“Sir?”
“Sleep, Dearest. I see your request. We’ll see what we can do. Perhaps an evening with Roman and I torturing a few slaves together and then sharing my beloved? Perhaps he’ll be easier to get along with after such an evening.”
“I love you, Sir.”
“And I love you, Dearest. Sleep.”
It was an order this time, so Spencer slept.