Chapter 17
Emmy’s earplugs and noise-canceling headphones meant she had no idea when Zander arrived, but around twelve-thirty, Spence screamed and pierced the muffled barrier of her concentration tracks.
The sound sent a warm thrill through her, a pleasant interruption that made her smile, happy Zander was giving him exactly what he needed.
She refocused on her work, the steady binaural sounds pulling her deeper into the data comparisons.
Before closing the files, she jotted quick, careful notes for herself: cross-reference these breakpoints with known Dobzhansky-Muller incompatibility loci from mouse hybrids, the classic spots where two slightly different gene versions clash and render hybrids sterile.
Then queue the variant calls for functional annotation, lining up all the tiny DNA variations for a deeper look at exactly what they actually do and, with luck, finally pinpoint the precise clashes that doom hybrid embryos.
Then would come the next challenge: untangling the sterility barrier that had thwarted every hybrid attempt for centuries, but …
baby steps. She looked back over her notes, added a reminder about transposable element insertions possibly masking incompatibilities, and was satisfied she’d left herself clear, precise breadcrumbs so she could dive straight back in without losing the thread.
She saved everything with a satisfied click, closed her laptop lid, removed her headphones and earplugs, and stood to stretch the long hours from her spine with five minutes to spare.
She considered using the five minutes to undress, but saw a post-it note on the door, and her dragon vision read it from across the room.
You are welcome to step inside and watch from a distance if you finish early.
Zander’s elegant script and thoughtful invitation made heat stir low in her belly, anticipation sharpening as she pushed the door open and stepped into the shadowed threshold, the soft creak of rope and Spence’s low, shuddering exhale drawing her like a magnet.
The sight waiting for her stole her breath, a visceral punch of beauty and torment that rooted her in place.
Spence hung suspended from the ceiling ring, naked and breathtakingly exposed, his body a living sculpture of surrender and suffering.
Thick hemp ropes wrapped his torso in tight, intricate diamonds, biting into skin already painted with deep bruises. Purple and crimson bloomed across his back from controlled impacts, likely from a brutally heavy flogger followed by a horsewhip, overlapping lines layered across pale flesh.
His ass and the backs of his thighs carried angry raised welts from a strap, and were crossed by deep-red, precise cane lines.
She winced at the six bloody parallel lines striping the fronts of his thighs, a testament to exactly how much control Zander has over his tools.
All this easily visible in the downward-facing shibari suspension pose Spence was bound into — one leg folded high behind him, ankle and calf lashed to thigh in a tight futomomo that arched his back sharply and thrust his chest forward.
The other leg was extended sideways, knee locked straight, ropes holding it mercilessly wide.
Heavy weights dangled from a steel donut locked above his balls, pulling them low and taut, skin stretched shiny and flushed, the constant downward crush turning every breath into a visible tremor.
His cock hung heavy between those forced-wide thighs, half-hard despite the agony, a testament to the twisted bliss only pain could wring from him.
Ropes supported his chest and hips, binding him well beyond what was necessary for safety while he flew overhead. No, these ropes would remind him with every breath of who his Master is, and who he is to his Master.
His arms were aimed up and back, one elbow bent and the other straight, asymmetrically opposite to his legs.
Zander stood on the very top of a short stepladder, finishing a complex intertwined tie to secure a wrist to the topmost leg, just below the ceiling ring, forcing an even deeper arch in his entire body.
Fresh blood beaded along the cane marks, and the sweet scent of added agony filled the room.
Spence’s gaze lifted the instant he sensed her, locking onto hers across the room — eyes glazed with building pain, dark and endless, but burning beneath it all was raw, unwavering devotion that slammed into her like a physical force.
The gift of his suffering offered without reservation, the depth of his submission a silent vow that touched her heart and made her core clench with heat.
His look stripped her bare and said everything: I belong to him.
To you. I am in your service. I am yours.
Zander, naked and exquisite, tested the knot with a gentle tug, then jumped off the stepstool to gather another weight before adding it to Spence’s balls with ruthless deliberation.
Spence’s breath stuttered, a sharp inhale splintering into a low, broken moan as gravity took hold, the stretch intensifying, his balls pulled lower in relentless fire.
Pain flared bright across his face, body quivering in the ropes, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
Yet acceptance flooded his gaze deeper still as he found peace in the torment, his surrender absolute, his gaze never leaving hers, never trying to hide.
He let her see everything, even as the ache layered over itself, building into a crescendo that would only stop when his Master released him.
And how long would he be there? Hours, possibly. And yet, he accepted it.
Emmy’s throat tightened, emotion surging fierce and hot: love for this wolf who endured for them, pride in his strength.
Dragons are possessive, and she felt every ounce of her heritage in that moment, for this submissive who gave himself to her and Zander.
He hung there, marked and bound, watching, enduring, and Emmy understood more than ever how important he was to their threesome.
His pain exquisite, his devotion the silent, searing thread that wove them all together.
Zander folded the stepstool, slid it behind the armoire, stepped to her, and cupped her cheek.
“Do you see it?” he asked softly, his thumb stroking gently.
“We are a triangle. The most stable shape, geometrically speaking. Three connected lines forming something greater and stronger. I am the cold that survived the grave, walking flesh animated by death magic. You are a chaotic wildfire given wings, able to burn anything that might attempt to cage you, and then soar with gravity-defying joy. We are opposite forces with an unequivocal need to dominate and control, meeting at the apex but widening at the base, held stable by our wolf’s enduring, foundational support.
You and I should extinguish each other: ice and flame, predator and predator, both sadists who have difficulty yielding. ”
He glanced back at Spence, suspended and suffering beautifully.
“Our boy gives the triangle its steadfast foundation. His omega strength enough to anchor two apex predators, giving us the stability to burn and freeze without tearing ourselves apart. Even bound, especially bound, he holds the triangle true and creates the space where we can coexist without destruction or annihilation, but with love.” He turned back to her.
“Bound or free, suspended or grounded — his strength stabilizes what should be impossible.”
Emmy’s breath caught and her heart fluttered, the triangle metaphor bringing forth emotions she wasn’t prepared to deal with, raw vulnerability so intense she couldn’t inhale, and the words settled like a brand on her soul.
Before she could scrape together a response, Zander’s mouth claimed hers, cool tongue stroking hers in deliberate possession that made her clit throb and her inner walls clench hard on nothing. Heat flooded south, a molten ache that had her thighs pressing together instinctively.
His hands slid from her face to her shoulders, cool palms gliding down her arms in a trail of gooseflesh, fingers hooking the hem of her t-shirt and stripping it off in one fluid yank, fabric whispering to the floor.
His touch returned, palms skimming up her ribs, thumbs dragging heavy over the undersides of her breasts before circling her nipples, pinching just enough to send an electric spark straight to her core.
She shivered violently, skin prickling despite the room’s warmth, nipples peaking diamond-hard under his cool assault.
He kissed her again, deeper, backing her toward the bed in a slow, predatory dance — bodies brushing, his rigid cock pressing against her.
She was hyper-aware of Spence above them, ropes creaking softly as he shifted, the building strain in his shoulders visible in the tremor of his bound arms, his gaze burning into them with dilated pupils and parted lips, pain and devotion radiating like heat.
Zander hooked fingers in her sweatpants’ waistband, tugging them down with her underwear, tipping her backward so her shoulders hit the mattress with a soft thud, cool air kissing her slick, exposed folds. He stood at the edge of the bed, possessive gaze raking her from head to toe and back.
“Beautiful,” he said simply, voice rough with want. He bent over her, slid his arms under her, and lifted her to reorient her longways on the bed.
He reclined beside her, cool fingers tracing a burning line from her cleavage down her torso, dipping into her navel, teasing lower.
“You used to have a piercing here.”