Chapter 5 Sadaré #5
And so he does, without another word. Blow after cracking blow falls across my shoulders, back, ass, and thighs.
He gives me the gift of fire that burns through my skin and flesh and bones and leaves me lighter than air.
I don’t know what sounds I’m making as he continues.
I might be laughing, screaming, sobbing—but in some far-off place where my mind flies, I’m quietly thanking him, over and over again.
Because he doesn’t only give me the gift of pain.
He also gives me Daesra, however unintentionally.
As the lash falls, each new sensation brings back bright memories like an awakening slap, from the endless times Daesra lovingly hurt me exactly how I wanted.
I can hear his dark laugh, smell his warm, earthy scent, almost feel his hand on the other side of the flogger, as if he were here with me.
In a way, he is. He’s a part of me, braided into my soul.
I cry for him as much as I cry for myself, tears of bliss and pain entwined—because I can feel the two of us entwined for a brief moment, even at such an impossible distance.
As if Isha can somehow sense him in my mind, his blows fall harder, until I can’t think about anything else.
Even Daesra melts away eventually, and I’m completely untethered, drifting on a sea of sensation.
Emptied, but not hollow. As blank and unbound as the night sky encompassing the starry heavens.
I don’t know when Isha stops, but suddenly his hand scoops under my chin, tipping my head back against his chest so he can peer down into my eyes from behind.
I meet his gaze with a heavy-lidded one of my own as I hang limply against the cross, absolutely liquefied.
I wouldn’t mind if he kept going, but since I can no longer feel the pain, that probably means he’s gone far enough.
“Are you still there, little one?” he asks softly, his arm curving around my neck to cup my tear-damp cheek in his palm.
My whole body is in the palm of his hand. My traitorous body. He could do whatever he wanted with me, and it would probably take me a long while to muster an argument. I can’t help but lean into his hand as I nod.
“Yes,” I whisper. And then, “Thank you.” I didn’t mean to speak the words aloud.
His eyes flare, though his beard-shadowed jaw doesn’t so much as twitch. “You took your punishment well. Good girl.”
The words should make me stiffen in anger, but they only melt me more. I’m too pliant to even be mad about that.
That’s ever been the paradox within me: I’ve wanted power and control more than anything for most of my life, but surrendering it to a chosen one gives me a blissful release unlike anything else.
I could feel ashamed for that, as I have in the past, but it’s an inescapable part of me that I’ve learned to accept.
And there is power to be found in surrender. Not only in the case of my witch’s magic, now lost to me, but in relation to others. Even over the one who thinks he’s wielding the power—such as the god standing over me right now.
Ours is a delicate dance to determine who will be leading whom in the end. And I need to keep one step ahead of him. Always.
Isha tips his head, and for an absurd moment I think he’s going to kiss me from above, sending a confusing spike of fear and excitement through me.
But then he turns to run his nose along my jaw, my neck, and then the slope of my shoulder, inhaling as he goes, his bristled chin scraping deliciously over me.
“Punishment… pleases you.” His voice thickens, taking on a huskier depth. “I can smell it.”
Now that he mentions it, my inner thighs are soaked, and the heat that I can’t feel on the outside is concentrated inside, in my core.
It’s always like this with me. Again, there’s no point in denying it or in arguing even with myself that it’s solely due to thoughts of Daesra. Because that would be a lie. “Yes.”
Isha gives a low, nearly soundless grunt that I feel through his chest. “I must admit, that pleases me.”
I blink up at him somewhat sleepily, but then with rising awareness of my own burning need. “My pleasure does?” Or is it more the pleasure he elicited? There’s one way to find out.
When he doesn’t answer, I say, “Free my hand.”
He eyes me curiously. “Why?”
“I want to use it.”
“I don’t need to remind you that you’re not allowed to hurt yourself, do I?
” He drags the leather tails lightly along my shoulder, and yet it’s enough to fan the flame in my tender skin into a roaring blaze.
I arch against the cross—into him. He doesn’t back away, and I don’t pull away, even though the contact with his chest burns my back with the red-hot glow of banked coals.
It only heightens the fire elsewhere, which isn’t helped by the fact that my pelvis is grinding into the hard wood, sending a surge of heat sparking up through me.
“I know,” I gasp. “I want to pleasure myself, not hurt myself.” My body is warm and thrumming and ready for a different kind of release to follow the one he just gave me. “In front of you.”
I don’t think he would mind seeing it. As long as I’m the one doing it, I don’t mind, either.
I try not to think about how Daesra might feel, even though he probably wouldn’t care, because this is the least of what I might have to do to keep Isha interested in our dance.
If he senses any reluctance so soon, I’ll lose him.
There’s silence behind me.
Is Isha somehow shocked at my suggestion? Affronted? You’d think a god would have seen everything. Be bored by everything.
And yet he’s been long separated from the other gods and their comingling, essentially banished into this realm of his own, king of it though he may be.
I don’t know how much he dallies with other shades on a more…
intimate… footing. Not much would be my guess, despite what this room might suggest, based on the fearful looks of the servants and how distantly he holds himself.
“Not now,” he says, and he vanishes from behind me. I sag against my bonds, frustrated in more ways than one—only to yelp when my cuffs release me and my legs abruptly buckle.
Isha catches me under my arms, easing me to the ground, where I kneel in a boneless huddle, curling in on myself, suddenly embarrassed.
Maybe he’s not interested in my flesh beyond how he can torment it.
Perhaps I should feel grateful for that instead of strangely rejected.
But then how will I possibly win him over?
It’s not that what we just did wasn’t an intimate exchange, but there’s still the flogger between us. He’s still keeping me at a distance.
I need to get much closer to him than this. Get inside of his guard, if only to slip through his grasp.
His finger traces along my jaw until he lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes where he crouches in front of me.
“Only I determine when you can pleasure yourself,” he says, gentle but firm. “Do you understand?” He waits until I reluctantly nod. Maybe he’ll never allow it, and that will be part of the torment. “For now, you’ve had enough. You need to rest.”
Before I can argue with that, he brings a pewter cup to my lips. Utterly parched, I accept a few gulps of cool water unthinkingly.
“Good girl,” he murmurs again, petting my hair.
And then I remember I’m not supposed to drink, no matter how thirsty I am. I jerk away in alarm, sloshing wetness down my neck.
“It’s only water,” he assures me mildly, tipping the cup so I can see the clear liquid.
He lifts the rim to my mouth once more, but I shake my head. Did he take advantage of my muddled state to make me drink?
He sighs. “Let me put you to bed, then.”
Before I can protest, he scoops me up in strong arms, hoisting me against his marble-hard body.
My shoulders and thighs flare to angry life at his touch, and I cry out, smacking his chest in mindless reflex.
When I realize what I’ve done, I tense in nervous expectation, too afraid to even glance up at him. Waiting for his retribution.
He only chuckles at my no-doubt-pathetic show of force. The warm, deep hum of it vibrates through me, oddly soothing, as he carries me out of the chamber.
I’m surprised, but not only at his reaction.
For a moment, the sound reminds me of Daesra’s laughter, overlapping with it disconcertingly.
I grow still against Isha all the way back to my tower, struggling to separate the two sounds, untwisting them over and over again in my mind.
But the arms around me confuse things further, covering over the imprint of those that held me before.
I picture Daesra’s face to help me, but I realize with horror that it’s beginning to blur at the edges.
I know mortal memories are fallible, but it should be impossible for mine to fail me so soon, especially since Daesra was so recently clear in my thoughts.
The water. The fucking water. I knew it.
This is the twisted reflection of what happened to Daesra and me in the maze. We forgot who we were, but then slowly remembered. Now I know myself, but I’ll slowly forget.
Forget him at least. The love of my life and—I hope—my death. But even if he’s all I forget, I won’t be the same without him, because he’s an inextricable part of me.
With sudden, sharp clarity, I realize that I have to seduce Isha before I lose that crucial part of my memory. I need him entirely bound up in me, if I’m to have any hope of escaping his bonds with it intact.
But I was made for this. I seduced a daemon in order to bind and control him. I can seduce a god to achieve a similar end.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself as I desperately hold on to Daesra’s blurring visage in my mind’s eye, as tightly as a prized treasure that’s about to be snatched away.