Chapter Eight
Soren
By the time I realize Addison has asked me a question, she's already looking at me expectantly.
I tighten the last knot around her wrists and check the rope with two fingers before meeting her eyes.
She's been coming to me for months, long enough that I know exactly how much pressure she likes and how quickly she settles once I start giving her something to focus on.
Today should be easy. Familiar. Instead, I've spent most of the session dragging my attention back to the room every time it wanders.
"Sorry," I say. "What did you ask?"
Addison's eyebrows lift. "I asked whether you wanted me to turn around."
"Yes. Slowly."
She does, settling back onto her knees while I adjust the rope and run my palm down her spine.
Her shoulders loosen beneath my hand, and when I tell her she's doing well, she smiles.
Praise has always worked beautifully for her.
I know which words make her sit a little straighter and which ones soften her almost immediately.
Usually, I enjoy watching that happen.
But I'm too busy thinking about seven o'clock.
I put my attention back where it belongs and keep it there for the rest of the session. Addison deserves better than half of me because I happen to be looking forward to seeing someone else, and whatever is happening with Margot has no business following me into another client's time.
By the end, Addison is relaxed beneath the blanket with a drink in her hands, and I've almost convinced myself she didn't notice anything.
Then she looks at me over the rim of her glass. "You're distracted today."
There's no accusation in it, which somehow makes it worse.
"I was."
"You recovered."
"Not quickly enough."
A small smile pulls at her mouth. "No, probably not."
I deserve that.
I apologize, and Addison accepts it without making more of the situation than it needs. We talk for another few minutes before I walk her downstairs and see her out. She leaves smiling, but I'm still irritated with myself when I return to the office to finish her notes.
The report is straightforward. Rope work, praise, aftercare, no concerns. I add a reminder to check in with her before our next session, save the file, and close it.
Then I look at the time.
Margot will be here in three hours.
That's all it takes for my attention to become a problem again.
Her room is already prepared, but I go upstairs anyway.
I tell myself I'm checking it. What I actually do is spend the better part of the afternoon changing things that didn't need changing in the first place.
The peonies are the first addition. Margot mentioned them during aftercare after our last session, when she was warm and sleepy enough that the stories came more easily.
Her grandmother grew them, and they were the only flowers Margot ever cared enough about to learn by name.
I saw a bunch at the florist this morning and bought them before I'd fully decided what I was doing.
Now they sit in a vase on the side table, pale pink blooms beginning to open.
I adjust the vase once.
Then again.
The dragon is insufferably pleased with himself.
Dinner is considerably harder to justify.
Food after a session is normal. We keep fruit, tea, bread, and enough other things on hand that nobody has to leave hungry. Cooking Margot an entire meal because I remembered what she likes is something else entirely.
I know this, but I still spend an hour in the kitchen.
By six thirty, everything is upstairs and staying warm, and I've set the small table near the windows for two. I stand there with a cloth napkin in my hand, looking at the second place setting.
This has gone well beyond soup, and I find I no longer care.
I leave the napkin where it is.
Margot knocks at seven.
I open the door and forget, briefly, how conversation works.
She's wearing a green dress.
I've only ever seen her in the clothes she arrives in after work or whatever she's thrown on for a Saturday afternoon session.
Tonight she's wearing a dress, the soft fabric fitted at her waist before falling around her legs, and her hair is loose over her shoulders.
There's something different about her makeup too, though I couldn't begin to identify what.
I only know she looks like she spent time getting ready.
Then her scent reaches me.
Her usual shampoo is there, but beneath it is something warmer I haven't smelled on her before. Perfume.
My dragon surges forward with enough enthusiasm that heat rushes into my body.
Margot's mouth curves.
"You look beautiful." My voice comes out rougher than intended, and a thin curl of smoke follows the words.
"Hello to you too."
I give her a look, but there's no hiding the smoke already disappearing above my head. Her eyes immediately flick upward, following it.
I close my mouth.
Margot looks back at me, clearly curious, but the smile tugging at her lips suggests she finds the whole thing more amusing than alarming.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing."
That smile says otherwise.
I decide not to give her the opportunity to investigate.
"Come in, Angel."
Her expression changes at the name, the teasing fading into something softer as a flush touches her cheeks.
Margot steps past me, and when I take her hand, her fingers close around mine without hesitation. I shut the door behind her.
I take my time undressing her, partly because I know she likes the anticipation and partly because tonight I need the discipline of going slowly.
I ease the green dress from her shoulders and let my hands follow it down, stopping whenever I feel her tense so I can draw her attention back to me.
By the time the dress reaches the floor, she's smiling, the last of whatever she carried in with her already beginning to loosen.
"There you are," I murmur.
Her cheeks warm, but she holds my gaze.
I remove the rest just as slowly, taking my time and watching her reaction as each piece comes off.
She doesn't fold her arms across herself or turn away when she's finally bare, and the difference from the woman who stood in front of me three weeks ago trying to make herself smaller hits me square in the chest.
I let myself look at her.
Margot shifts beneath the attention, but she doesn't hide. If anything, she straightens.
"Look at you," I say, and my voice comes out rough. "So fucking perfect."
A low growl slips out with the words before I can stop it. Margot's eyes flick to mine at the sound, but she doesn't look away.
Then I touch her.
Heat gathers naturally in my palms as I move them over her, lingering wherever I feel tension beneath my hands.
Margot responds almost immediately, leaning into the warmth instead of waiting for me to coax her there.
Each time she does, I slow down a little more, giving her time to enjoy being touched without asking anything of herself in return.
When my hand travels lower, her legs open to me without being asked.
She's not just wet; she's dripping for me. I drag one heated fingertip through the slickness coating her pussy, painting a stripe of heat from her entrance right up to her clit. Her whole body jerks off the mattress with a choked gasp.
"Soren—"
"I've got you." I do it again, circling that hard little pearl with a fingertip that runs warmer than skin should, watching her fall apart in inches.
"So responsive. Look how well you take that.
" I press one finger into her, then two, curling them to hit her G-spot.
Her pussy clenches around me instantly, trying to keep them inside of her.
"That's it. Good girl, getting so wet for your Dom. "
The praise undoes her. She flushes down her chest, her hips chasing my hand, and when I lower my mouth to her, the heat of it pulls a cry from her as her fingers tighten in my hair.
I eat her like I've got all night. I hold her open with my thumbs and latch onto her clit, sucking it into my mouth while my fingers work inside her.
I worship her, tasting her sweet musk, listening to her beg in that half-embarrassed way she hasn't unlearned yet.
I devour her until she comes on my tongue with my name screamed into the room, her thighs clamping around my head as her orgasm ripples through her.
I don't stop. I lick up her come like it's the finest wine, soothing her with my hot tongue until she's wrung out and gasping for air.
When I lift my head, her chest is heaving and her eyes have gone glassy. She's looking at me like she's never seen me before.
"Soren." Her voice comes unsteady. "I want—"
She stops.
Margot rarely asks me for anything. She usually leaves the decisions to me, which makes the certainty in her voice now impossible to miss.
"Tell me what you want, Angel," I say, my voice low against the inside of her thigh.
Her throat moves. "I want your cock. Inside me. I want you."
Not I want this. Not I want more. Me. My cock.
The request hits me like a physical blow. My eyes fall shut. For a moment I don't trust myself to move.
Then I crawl up her body and settle between her thighs.
I take my cock in hand and drag the thick ridge of my cockhead through her pussy, coating myself in her, notching against her tight entrance without pushing in.
She's small. I'm not. The stretch is going to be a lot, and I want her feeling it for days.
I stop for a second, notched against her, every muscle burning with the effort of waiting.
"Angel. Before we go further—I can't carry disease, and I can't get you pregnant. A dragon's seed only takes with his true mate, and I stopped believing my mate existed centuries ago." The words come out easily. "But it's your body and your call. Like this, or I can—"
"Like this." Her heels dig into the backs of my thighs. "Just you. Please."
"Good girl. Now breathe for me," I tell her.
She does. And I sink into her.