Chapter 22
Knife woke with Tuesday spooned against him, her body soft and warm, heavy with sleep.
The early-morning light filtered through the trees outside the window, painting soft gold across the room.
He lay quiet for a moment, breathing in the mingled scent of her skin, last night’s sex, and the faint rope marks still engraved in her flesh.
His own personal stamp, shadowed beautifully in the angled light.
His cock was already hard, and he shifted enough to press the head at her entrance and slide into her pussy from behind in a slow, smooth glide.
And then groaned when her wet heat enveloped him. Squeezed in welcome.
He started with nice, lazy strokes, savoring the way her body tightened around him while she stirred. A soft sound escaped, and she pushed back against him, her scent blooming with fresh arousal layered over the deep, lingering soreness from her time in his ropes.
Which meant the gentle interlude was over. He needed to hurt her, and her scent told him the feeling was mutual.
He rose to his knees, and she whined in complaint when his dick came out of her, but he ignored her, lifted her torso, and knee walked with her to the foot of the bed, dragging her legs.
She fought to get her knees under her, but he already had her to the pillory, guiding her neck and wrists into the slots.
The heavy wooden top came down with a solid, satisfying click, and he locked the levers into place, trapping her.
Her ass and the backs of her thighs were a mess, and he wanted to even out the stripes, so he made his way to his kink chest and chose a nice, weighty paddle. Not the heaviest, because he wanted her to feel both sting and thud, and this would deliver both.
He started on her ass, laying down heavy, measured strokes that turned the already-marked skin a deep, angry red.
After a while, he moved to the backs of her thighs, paddling until the flesh was hot and swollen, and he focused on her ass again, returning to the already-battered flesh.
He put more muscle into it, feeling every impact travel up his arm.
His cock throbbed, granite hard, but he focused on her reactions rather than his, for the moment.
She jerked and whimpered with every blow, and she tried to dance away, but the pillory wouldn’t let her. She had no choice but to absorb every strike. To take what he gave her.
When her ass and thighs were a uniform deep red, he set the paddle aside and pulled the plug in her ass free.
Her hole gaped, pink and twitching, and he rubbed coconut oil into his right hand before jamming four fingers into her ruined hole.
She cried out, the sound raw and broken, exactly as it should be. He used as much strength and speed as he dared, fucking her with his hand, stretching her wide while his thumb found her clit and pressed.
“Come,” he ordered, voice low and rough.
Her body obeyed instantly. She came with a strangled scream, her ass clamping down around his fingers, her whole frame shaking in the pillory as the orgasm tore through her.
Only then did he pull his hand free, line up, and slam his cock into her pussy from behind.
He fucked her hard, deep, and relentless, and her screams were all bliss now.
He ordered her to come again and again, feeling her walls contract and squeeze around him in waves every fucking time she shattered. Dozens of times, because she was damned well coming back for more.
When he finally couldn’t hold back any longer, he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, guttural groan, emptying himself deep inside her in relentless pulses that felt like they were dragging his very soul out with them.
He stayed buried for a long moment, breathing hard, then slowly pulled out.
He released her from the pillory and told her to change, but she turned to him and shook her head.
“I’m pretty sure that means the scene is over, so I’m going to refuse.
My shoulders were the worst of it, and they mostly healed overnight.
Nothing else did, but…” She shrugged. “I want to live with this. No change. At least not now.”
He stood very still for a long fucking moment because in years of scenes with willing partners, no one had ever said that to him.
Not once. Most were grateful for the shift, the wolf's healing erasing what he'd done as if it’d never happened.
The marks were temporary by nature, and he'd accepted that as the cost of playing with shifters.
Tuesday was choosing to keep them like some kind of… souvenir.
Every stripe he'd laid across her ass and thighs.
The rope marks still visible on her skin.
The soreness she'd carry in her shoulders and hips.
She wanted all of it, wanted to feel his work on her body through the rest of her day and into the next morning, and the knowledge of that landed deep in his chest and squeezed his damned heart.
He lifted her into his arms without a word and carried her to the shower.
He sat her on the tile bench and worked the shampoo through her hair with careful fingers, and he kept thinking about it. The way she'd shaken her head. The shrug, like it was obvious.
I want to live with this.
She wasn't keeping the marks to please him, but because she wanted the physical memory of what they'd done together, wanted his work on her body to mean something past the scene itself.
He rinsed her hair, worked in the conditioner, and thought about what that meant while she leaned into him, quiet and pliant, letting him take care of her.
It meant she wasn't just here for the sex, but for… what? He didn’t know, and no way in hell was he going to ask her.
He stood her gently, soaped his hands, and began carefully working the lather over her skin — every stripe, every rope mark, every bruise. His hands mapped the damage, and her words echoed in his head.
I want to live with this.
He rinsed her body with the same care he'd used to mark it, and said nothing, because there was nothing to say in this moment. He let the warm water and his gentle touch speak his feelings while the knowledge of the choice in front of him moved from his chest to settle in his gut.
He sat her before the vanity and lifted the blow dryer to work on her hair, and she told him, “I can do that. My arms and shoulders are mostly okay.”
“Don’t argue,” he told her, despite the fact the power exchange was over.
And she sat still while he dried her hair.
Before they went down, she dressed in leggings and a shirt. He put on jeans, and they made their way to the kitchen for breakfast.
“I have my own recipe for sausage,” he told her. “Fennel, orange zest, a touch of Calabrian chili. A few other things. Interested?”
“Absolutely. Pork, I assume?”
“Of course, though I sometimes make it with venison.”
He sat her at the bar and didn’t let her help beyond toasting the thick slices of sourdough he cut from the loaf he’d bought from a local bakery. He fried the sausage and served it alongside soft scrambled eggs, and he set a jar of spiced honey beside her plate.
They ate at the table, conversation easy and warm, going from details of the hike, about why he’d chosen that specific motorcycle when he bought it, about her plans to try making collard greens as soon as she made it to the grocery store, to see if she could match the ones from the restaurant.
And then he watched her drive away with his feelings all over the fucking place.
The agreement had been Mondays, and they’d expanded into Tuesday morning.
But she wasn’t going to stretch it more. This was all he’d ever have of her, and it wasn’t enough. Wasn’t even close to enough.
She only knew part of him, and she needed to know the rest.
And he fucking needed more of her. His wolf fucking demanded it, and the man was in agreement.
He stepped away from the door and told himself it would have to be enough.
But he knew in his bones it wouldn’t.
He used his pin to unlock his phone, and called his grandfather.
“Grandson! It’s good to hear from you, but I sense you are troubled.”
He always knew, so Knife got straight to it.
“I’ve met someone special, but…” He blew out a breath. “My club has rules against dating pack wolves. Against dating any species with an alpha who can override their will.”
His grandfather didn’t say anything, so Knife continued.
“We were supposed to be friends with benefits, but it’s grown into more.
I need her to know who I am, grandfather.
I love her, and she needs to understand who I am.
That I’m not a mere wolf. Most of all, my wolf wants her to see him.
He wants to run with her wolf. Needs it. ”
His grandfather was quiet for a long moment, but Knife had said everything he intended to say. He’d give his grandfather the time he needed to respond.
Finally, his slow, deep voice returned the verdict.
“You know the rules, grandson. Only when there’s a tangible reason to believe she will be your lifelong mate can you share our secret with her.”
“I do know the rules,” Knife said, voice rough. “But she’s… she might be the one. And I don’t know what to do.”
“It sounds like you have a difficult decision to make. If you need to come home and do a vision quest, or go to sweat, we would all love to see you, though we’ll regret your pain.”
His grandfather had never told him what to do, but he always helped him figure it out, and he supposed he’d just done so. If she’s the one, he has a decision to make, and only he can make it. No one else.
And he had the tools to help him make those decisions. Sweat lodge, or the more extreme trip to the mountains, solo, until Great Spirit showed him the path he couldn’t find.
And the reminder he has a home, with people who love him.
“I know, grandfather. But thanks for saying it. I love you.”
“And I love you, grandson. I hope you find peace.”
Knife ended the call and stood in the quiet kitchen for a long time, staring out at the valley below.
- - - ? - - -
Tuesday drove slowly out of the driveway, and the Maserati’s suspension found every imperfection on the way out. She wanted to fly away, but she didn’t want to make it look like she did.
So she breathed through the impulse with her hands loose on the wheel, letting the car find the way with her foot on the brake for the steep downhill slope.
The gate closed in her rearview mirror, and she pulled onto the road, where she went a little faster.
Her clit pulsed with every bump. Her nipples, still tender and about a thousand degrees, sent sharp jolts of complaint with every shift of fabric. Her asshole throbbed and burned, a deep ache that felt absolutely right.
All of it did, actually, and she held onto every pain he’d inflicted on her body with choice. Uncountable throbbing memories she wanted to hold onto as long as possible.
She turned onto Lee Highway, and she pushed the pedal hard enough the car’s horsepower pressed her into the back of her seat.
And she let herself think.
The day and the night were fighting for space in her head, and neither was winning.
The hiking trail. The waterfalls. The vanishing creek. Raven’s point. The trail mix. Silicone bags. Chicken livers and chicken hearts. Magic on a motorcycle — long sweeping curves Knife leaned the bike nearly sideways on, the wind whipping her clothes.
And then such a simple scene, but he’d taken her apart with nothing but rope, twine, a spreader bar, his belt, and his mind. His voice.
He’d taken her all the way down to nothing. No thoughts. No Tuesday. No wolf. Just sensation, surrender, and the overwhelming relief of not having to be anything at all.
It wasn’t like he was the first Dom who could do that. She’d been in countless scenes that had taken her deep, wrung her out, and left her floating.
But she’d never had both the whole man and then the Dom in the same day. Not like that.
She didn’t know what to do with a man who could do both. Who was both. Who apparently hadn’t even had to choose between them, just moved from one to the other like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Her wolf was quiet. Not subdued, not sulking, just full. Sated in a way that went beyond the physical. The bitch had surrendered everything last night, completely and without reservation, and she’d woken up this morning still willing.
That’d never happened before. Her wolf trusted people slowly and conditionally, and always held pieces of herself back. Always watched, always assessed.
Last night, she’d watched him put a needle-toothed clamp on Tuesday’s clit and rolled over to show her belly in submission.
Usually, Tuesday had to shut her wolf up before she could submit, but her wolf was leading the charge with this man.
She made a left turn onto the backroads toward her apartment rather than taking a right turn to the grocery store. Collard greens could wait.
She wasn’t ready to face people yet.
Today, she’d enjoy every pain, big and little. The throbbing, the tenderness of a body that’d been thoroughly used and abused in all the best ways.
She carefully made her way through a circle, watching for idiots to be idiots, and she thought about how strange it was that the world looked exactly the same as it had yesterday morning when she’d driven the other direction, because she felt like an entirely different person.