Chapter Thirty-Five
Ember
I’m in a shitty mood for the rest of the day.
After a workout with Max, where he busies himself being an idiot and gawking at me, I head back to the apartment, where I settle in the living room to stew.
Creature makes his bed beneath me, resting his head on my feet.
Since he’s warming them, I let him stay in place.
Occasionally, I even lean down to scratch his head.
Max seems to sense I need the space, because he leaves me be. He works in his office for a few hours, orders up lunch for us, then tells me he’s going to be making rounds and leaves for a few more hours.
I sit in place, trying to think through everything. There is no part of me that has any desire to see Dagon again for any purpose but to kill him… and even then, part of me wishes I could stay out of it.
I’m not docile by nature—I never have been, not from the memories I have of my youth. I’ve been quiet and timid at times in my life, but never docile. When something needed to be done, I rolled up my sleeves and did it.
And yet… the mere thought of letting Dagon get his hands on me makes me want to curl up in a ball and disappear. Letting him get near me, after Alina’s been saved, makes me sick with nerves.
In the hours that trickle by, I don’t just think about Dagon. I also think about her. My sister. The only pure human being I’ve ever met. She is sunshine in human form—of course I’d have gone to any lengths to protect her. Perfection like her must be preserved.
I also think about Tobias’s protectiveness of her.
It’s plausible that they knew each other in foster care—I know she was fostered for a while before her parents officially adopted her.
But she never mentioned Tobias to me, and in the short time we knew each other, we’d grown very close.
I think we both grew up yearning for a sibling, and neither of us ultimately got the chance, so when it presented itself, we leaped on it.
The front door swings open late in the evening, close to 10P.M. Max steps in, his usual, infuriating grin stamped on his features.
He looks pleased to see me, whereas I’m still irritated with the world at large, and as a byproduct, him.
I’m especially irritated with him because I’m beginning to get snippets of memories with him, and he wants to promote that whereas I’d much prefer to suppress it.
He's holding a tray with two covered silver platters on it. “Food, shower, sex, and bed. Sound good?”
“Yes to the first two; go fuck yourself on the latter options,” I snarl.
“Sounds good, Max,” he says, making a poor attempt to mimic my voice. Then, in his usual tone, he replies, “That’s what I like to hear.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you like me more than you’re letting on. Come on, Flame.”
“Your ego is stunningly out of proportion.”
“With what? You can’t be referring to my cock; you’re the one who commented on it being monster-sized yesterday. Can’t be my personality, either, since it’s spectacular. Or—”
“For the love of God, shut the hell up,” I plead, rubbing my temple with two fingers. “You’re impossible.”
“I prefer the term, hot as fuck. In any case, sit your ass down and eat.”
After the meal, Maximus insists on showering together, not taking no for an answer. And then, his bedtime rolls around.
“Kneel,” he says.
“No,” I reply. “I’m not doing this tonight. I have thinking to do.”
“You can think in the morning. I’m gonna fuck you, and then we’re gonna sleep.”
I don’t get the sense that I have a say in the former, but the latter… “No fucking way am I sleeping.”
“We’ll see about that. Drop the towel and kneel.”
My nostrils flare as I release my death-grip on the towel and sink to my knees, filled with a restless sort of anger. Max circles me, like he always does, his eyes appreciatively drinking in every inch of me.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs. “So fucking mine. Get up on the bed.”
He disappears into the closet, and I know that when he emerges, it’ll be with a bunch of strange BDSM gear that he keeps tucked away. I can’t stop him from fucking me, but I can certainly halt my own enjoyment of our activities, which is precisely what I intend to do.
I follow his instructions, climbing onto the bed. Since he didn’t specify a position, I sit with my arms crossed over my chest, hiding my breasts, and my legs hanging over the side, toes brushing the floor.
Despite myself, an anticipatory heat starts to fill my veins. I know what’s coming next, and even though I don’t want to want it, my body isn’t exactly getting the memo. I’m getting turned on by the thought of what Max will do to me alone.
He emerges and, just as expected, he’s holding an armful of things I don’t recognize and don’t even want to put a name to.
“You get one chance for this to go the easy way, Flame,” he says. “Tell me you want me to fuck you and that you’ll go to sleep afterwords.”
I eye the many elaborate straps and toys in his arms, suppressing the shiver that threatens to course up my spine.
“Do whatever you want,” I manage to say.
“It’s not going to change anything. I need space to think.
I can’t stop you from invading that, but a diversion isn’t going to change my plans. ”
“We’ll see about that. Give me your hands.”
“No.”
He pauses. Slowly, so slowly, arches an eyebrow. “You want to try that again?”
“No!” I snap. All of the frustration, irritation, and confusion that’s been building inside of me all day reaches a fever pitch.
“I don’t want to try that again. I’m not a doll you can position and do with as you please—I’m a fucking human being.
You can certainly try to use the deal we struck to control me, but you will never, ever truly own me. ”
“Alright.” He pauses for a beat, glancing me over.
Then, his hand shoots out, swift as a serpent’s strike, and his fingers circle my wrist. I try to yank away, but he’s too strong, too determined, and far too fast. He uses his grip to flip me onto my front, where he wrenches my arms behind my back.
I feel something cool slip over them, leather cuffs, and then, his weight disappears.
I try to get my knees under me, to rear up, to tug my way out of the restraints, but a sharp jerk on my ankles flattens me on the bed.
I kick my feet and release a groan of frustration—I even manage to dislodge a foot—but more leather follows. This time, the cuffs are attached to a spreader bar, which holds me almost completely immobile.
“I think there’s a lesson to be learned here,” Max says.
“If you’d asked to talk over your thoughts with me, then I wouldn’t have moved forward with my plans.
Likewise, if you’d decided not to resist, I wouldn’t have bound you this tightly.
All of my reactions are a result of your actions.
If you want different outcomes, change your behavior. ”
“I fucking despise you,” I seethe, to which Max only responds with a dark chuckle.
“You’re about to hate me a whole lot more, then, because I’m going to punish the hell out of your perfect ass before fucking you until you’re incoherent.”
“Fine,” I hiss. “Do whatever it takes to make your perverted fucking brain happy.”
“I will. It’s going to end in you, screaming my name and coming as many times as I tell you to come, and then cuddling up to me and falling asleep.”
He says this like it’s a foregone conclusion, and it makes me want to scream again, but instead, I seal my lips. If he’s looking for a reaction, my best bet is to completely deprive him of one.
I hear a slight rustle as he picks something up. Then, a zzz of some sadistic implement cuts through the air, before a hard impact lands on my ass. The hit isn’t horrifically painful—it stimulates the flesh it thunks down on rather than hurts, and it sends a shiver coursing up my spine.
“This is a flogger,” Max tells me. “Nine tails. It can feel quite pleasant—” he demonstrates this with a softer hit on my other ass cheek, which almost makes me arch and moan in enjoyment, “—or it can be extremely fucking painful.”
The next hit is sharp, hard, and like he promised, it hurts. Badly. I bury my face in the mattress to suppress a cry of pain, determined not to give him a reaction.
He doesn’t seem to mind. He brings the flogger down on my ass, over and over again.
For every few moderate, warming hits, he delivers one so sharp it makes me want to scream.
Instead, I bury my face in the bedspread, choke down my cries, and try to ignore the languid heat that begins spreading through my body, starting from my burning ass and traveling through my core, my nipples, and worming its way through my veins.
Max keeps going long after my burning ass becomes too much to bear.
He’s relentless, not stopping to rest his arms or even ask me how I’m doing.
Slowly, inch by inch, the rage starts to seep out of me.
Something that feels suspiciously like submission overtakes my solar plexus, and after a while, I relax.
Max murmurs something under his breath. He gives me one last hit, the hardest yet, and then I hear him drop the flogger. We’re both breathing hard, me more so than him.
He slowly rests his cool hand on my ass, and it feels like heaven over the sensitized flesh. I press my sweaty forehead against the sheets, breathing deeply and reaching for some semblance of composure.
“Very pretty,” Max says quietly, stroking his thumb over my heated skin.
He unlatches my ankles from the cuffs and pulls my knees under me, spreading my legs wider.
I tug a little at my hands, the discomfort in my shoulders starting to burn, but he either doesn’t notice or chooses to let me suffer.
Probably the latter. His palm slides over my ass, then travels down. Two fingers glide through my slit.