Chapter 20 #2
She stepped close enough that her warmth registered, but she didn’t touch him anywhere except the steady hand on his belly. “I’m not asking for a confession that will make me angry, or sad, or disappointed.” A pause. “Though if it does, that’s okay too.”
Her thumb traced a gentle arc just above his navel. “I’m asking you for the thing you keep folded away because you’ve decided it doesn’t deserve air.”
His breath hitched. What could she see in his face? Zander could read his thoughts, but she had only his expressions, his tears, the way his body betrayed every emotion.
And somehow, that made her perception more terrifying.
“You serve beautifully,” she said, and there was something raw in her voice now. “You hold us steady. You give without keeping score. But that also makes you very good at deciding what parts of yourself are … expendable.”
Fresh tears slipped free. He didn’t sob. He just leaked, quietly, his thoughts slowly cracking under their own weight.
“I don’t have secrets,” he whispered. “I just have … noise. Things that don’t matter.”
“That’s not your call.” Her voice stayed calm, but he heard the steel underneath.
He looked at Zander again, and his Master rose and moved behind him. Out of his sight. He had to focus on Emmy alone, now.
The tactical brilliance of it hit him even through the pain. They were working together. Emmy might be leading this interrogation, but Zander was supporting her, trusting her, letting her own this.
Emmy tilted her head, scrutinizing him the way one might study a puzzle — not forcing it, just learning where the tension lived, where the breaking points might be.
“Tell me what you’re afraid I’ll hear.”
His jaw clenched. For a long moment, he said nothing, and she let the silence stretch until it hurt worse than any strike ever could.
The cramps continued. The weights pulled. His shoulders burned. And still she waited, patient as stone.
Eventually — five minutes? Ten? — she asked conversationally, “Should we release your ankles from the floor so you can give us pull-ups? Zander’s looking through the horsewhips.”
The casual mention of escalation broke something loose.
“I don’t trust myself,” he breathed, the words barely audible.
There it was. The first real fracture.
Emmy didn’t react except to say, softly, “Go on.”
Another cramp hit, vicious and deep, and he talked through it, voice trembling. “I don’t know which parts of what I want are … mine.” More tears escaped, hot trails down cool cheeks. “I don’t know which ones were put there.”
The silence that followed felt weighted. Heavy.
“You think that makes you less,” she said slowly. Not a question.
He nodded, miserable. “I think it makes me dirty. Or weak. Or—” His throat closed. “Broken in a way I can’t fix.”
She exhaled, and he heard something shift in that breath — and scented genuine sorrow coming from her.
“And so you decided,” she said carefully, each word chosen with precision, “that as long as you function, as long as you serve, as long as you hold us together … the rest of you doesn’t need to be heard.”
His shoulders shook with silent sobs.
“Sometimes I don’t want to need what I need,” he whispered, and this was the core of it, the rotten truth he’d never spoken aloud.
“How can I still want pain when I’m like this because people stole who I was meant to be?
People taught me to want pain.” His voice cracked.
“How can I trust who I am if I can’t fix myself?
How weak am I, that I haven’t been able to cancel out that training?
That I still crave the belt and the whip? ”
Emmy’s hand came up to cup his cheek, holding him so gently he wanted to weep harder. She made him meet her gaze, wouldn’t let him look away.
“You survived a horrible childhood,” she said, and her voice was fierce now, protective.
“And you are thriving as an adult. You aren’t a full-time submissive.
You did rise above what they tried to make you.
” Her thumb brushed away a tear. “Felix was never abused, and he’s a masochist. Lots of people with normal childhoods enjoy kinky sex.
Maybe you’d have craved the whip no matter what happened to you. But it doesn’t matter—”
She leaned closer, her forehead almost touching his.
“Because having people who love you apply it with intention brings you joy and bliss now. That’s what matters. Not where the need came from. What matters is that you’re choosing this. Choosing us.”
Her hand slid to cup the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair.
“And you don’t belong to me because you hurt so fucking beautifully,” she whispered. “You belong to me because you trust me with your pain — both physical and mental. You trust me to see you and not turn away.”
She held his gaze, unblinking, fierce.
“That,” she said, “is submission.”
“There’s something else,” Zander said from behind him, and then walked around to his front. “Say it, boy. I need to hear it out loud, and so does Emmy.”
“I have all this power now,” Spence choked out between sobs. “And I need it to do my work, to protect the flock, to look out for the coterie, to be useful. But I hate having it in scenes. I hate feeling strong when I want to be helpless. Truly helpless.”
He looked between them, this woman he loved and this vampire who’d given him everything, and he met Zander’s gaze.
“I don’t want it when I’m … like this. Can you block it, Sir? Take it away and make me nothing but yours? Please?”
The words came out in a series of sobs, raw and desperate, and he felt the air going out of the nozzle. His knees buckled the instant the balloons deflated, putting pressure back on his shoulders. Only the ropes kept him from folding to the floor.
The water gushed out of him in an uncontrolled, humiliating flood. The pressure eased but the cramps didn’t magically stop, his body still wringing itself out.
Emmy wrapped her arms around him, supporting his weight while cradling his head to her shoulder. “Asking to be fully ours in every way, with no safety net, no backup plan — that’s one of the strongest things I’ve ever heard.”
Her voice shook slightly, and he realized she was crying too.
“To wield the power of a Master vampire in your everyday life,” she continued, pressing kisses to his temple, his cheek, anywhere she could reach, “and ask to be made our vessel, our foundation, our heart in private? I am blown away by your strength.”
“As am I,” Zander said, his large hand settling warm and steady on Spence’s upper back. “You honor us with this trust. With this surrender.”
And then, like magic, he felt Zander’s power leave him.
No longer did he have the option to call someone from outside the room, or to attempt to break past Emmy’s shields to control her.
Not that he would’ve ever tried, but the option was no longer there.
He couldn’t draw on Zander’s strength to bend the spreader bar.
He was helpless and bound, just as he’d wanted.
Their praise along with Zander’s acquiescence broke the last of him.
A raw, wrenching sob tore free, his chest heaving, body straining against the ropes as tears streamed unchecked.
His legs gave out entirely, and the winch creaked as his full weight sagged into Emmy’s hold, shoulders screaming, every bruise and welt pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
He was empty, spent, utterly undone — and not even a tiny bit ashamed of it.
Emmy held his shaking frame closer, cradling his head so he could bury his face against her neck. Her warmth seeped into skin that felt flayed open, body and soul both exposed and somehow … safe.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered against his hair. “We’ve got you. Always.”
Behind him, Zander was already moving to release the suspension ropes and remove all the clamps and weights, his movements efficient but gentle. Working together without needing words, the triangle completing itself even in this moment of breaking and rebuilding.
Spence sobbed harder, but these tears felt different.
These tears felt like coming home.