Chapter 1 #2
Velvet Fang is alive around me, full of monsters surrendering to carefully negotiated fantasies.
Crimson light glows against black marble.
Music pulses beneath my feet. A vampire couple passes me laughing softly, the woman wearing a velvet collar while her partner carries their drinks.
A horned demon lounges against the bar with a submissive satyr curled comfortably against his side.
The club is exactly as I remember it.
It should feel familiar. Instead, it feels wrong.
I order a drink. Something strong.
The bartender slides it toward me. "Rough night?"
"You could say that." I give him a thin smile.
I drink half of it too quickly. Then I hate myself for looking back toward the corridor. I tell myself I am checking whether the scene has ended. Nothing more.
When I return, the room is quiet.
The ogre is gone. Bram is sitting alone on the floor.
For several seconds, I don't move. He looks exhausted.
His broad chest rises and falls beneath his fur. There are several red marks visible along his arms and shoulders, and his hair is disheveled. His ears are still lowered. His eyes are swollen from crying.
He looks younger like this. Vulnerable, and even slightly broken, like he's had enough of being someone's pet.
I wait. Surely the ogre will come back. Maybe she just went to get some things to use on his wounds.
But the minutes crawl by. Bram remains on the floor, staring at nothing.
I finally exhale.
Damn it.
I walk toward him. "Bram?"
His head lifts sharply.
Those brown eyes find mine. I feel a spark in my belly the moment his satre connects with me. My lower belly heats, half from desire to fuck this vulnerable, strong bear and half from pain. For one terrible second, neither of us speaks.
Then his lips part. The word comes out as a feral growl. "Seraphina."
My name sounds different in his voice than it sounds in anyone else's.
Deeper.
"Are you all right?" I ask, fisting my hands so I don't reach them out and stroke his fur. Once, I loved caressing his soft coat, loved burying my face in his cuddly softness and letting the world disappear.
He gives a tiny shrug. "I'm a little overwhelmed."
"A little?"
His mouth twitches. "Maybe more than a little."
I crouch in front of him. Up close, I can see how tired he really is.
"Did she give you aftercare?"
His eyes drop. "No."
"What do you mean, no?" My jaw tightens.
"We talked about the scene afterward, about how I fell short of her expectations, and maybe we had wanted different things. She asked me if I would be okay here. I said I was okay, and then she left."
"That isn't aftercare."
"I know."
"Then why are you sitting here alone?"
He looks embarrassed. "I'm tired. I wanted to rest for a bit."
Something hot and furious moves through me. "Aftercare is part of the scene."
"I know."
"Then why didn't you ask?"
His gaze rises to mine. "Because I didn't want to be difficult. I had already fallen short of her expectations, so how could I ask her to give me more?"
There it is. That sentence. The sentence that tells me everything.
I close my eyes for a moment.
When I open them, I hold out my hand. "Come with me."
He stares at my palm. "Where?"
"Somewhere quiet."
"Seraphina—"
"This isn't a negotiation. You need care before those wounds become infected."
His expression softens. "You're still bossy."
He gives me the faintest smile. But he stirs, as if she's moving himself to obey my command.
The praise bubbles out of my throat without my consent. "And you're still a good boy when you listen."
His ears lift. Only slightly. But I see it.
I shouldn't have said that. Yet some part of me has missed the way his entire body responds to those words.
He puts his enormous hand in mine. I love the weight of it.
I'm a siren, so even though I'm very tall, I'm slender.
I loved his broadness, furriness, and size.
I especially love how his paws feel on my slender hands, like a huge ball of fluffy fur.
Warmth tingles my skin where we make contact.
My pussy clenches at his ease submission, but my heart clenches harder at his heartbroken, lost expression.
I lead him through the corridor toward one of the club's private recovery rooms.
The space is quieter than the main rooms, decorated in deep burgundy and warm gold.
Soft lamps illuminate a comfortable chaise, and a cabinet beside it contains everything needed for basic aftercare.
The air itself seems gentler here, infused with the same soothing magic that fills the club's Submission Lounge, where plush couches, blankets, drinks and aftercare supplies are kept for partners recovering from scenes.
"Sit."
Bram obeys. I open the cabinet.
"Head back."
He hesitates.
"Seraphina, you don't have to."
I look directly into his eyes. "Listen to me like a good boy, won't you?"
His throat moves. "Okay."
He lowers himself carefully until his enormous body is stretched across the chaise.
Then I sit beside him.
His eyes flick toward my lap.
The realization passes between us.
He looks away. "I'm sorry. I don't want you to think I'm greedy or asking for anything. I just looked because you lap seemed cozy."