by Donya Lynne
"That’s right, Io, it was me Devon heard in the shower with Severin, not Bauer. It was me."
Io’s gaze lifted. He looked betrayed and angry. "You're…oh my God, you’re a faggot?"
Micah shot away from Ari and had Io by the throat and against the wall and suspended off the floor so fast he hadn’t been able to track him. "You check that shit right now, Io. You got me. You’re half to blame for Sev over there with his chest sewn up like a Raggedy Ann doll, so you need to put a lid on that shit like yesterday."
"Okay, Micah, calm down," Tristan said.
Ari felt something brush against his hand, and he glanced down to see Sev’s fingers reaching for his. He turned toward the bed and looked up to see Sev’s eyes opened and a weak smile on his face.
"Sev!" He gripped Sev’s hand and moved toward the bed. "How long have you been awake?"
Sev blinked heavily. "Long…enough." His voice sounded like someone had rubbed sandpaper over his vocal chords.
The commotion coming from the others fell away as Ari knelt down beside Sev. "You heard me, didn’t you?"
Sev’s gaze followed him as he lowered himself to Sev’s eye level. He nodded. "Yes."
It felt like they were the only two in the room, despite the arguing and bickering carrying on in the corner among Micah, Io, and Tristan.
"Well, it’s time I lived my own life, don’t you think?" He traced his fingers across Sev’s brow. "How do you feel?"
Sev grinned. "Like I’ve…been shot." He still sounded so damn weak, but the fact he was smiling was good news. "When can we…go home?"
Ari smiled. Sev must have been doing better to be thinking about going home already.
"Let me buzz the nurse and we’ll find out."
Within seconds the nurse came in and took his vitals.
"How long does Sev need to stay here?" Ari said.
"I’ve called the doctor. He should be here in just a minute. I’ll let him discuss that with you."
"Who shot me?" Sev said, sounding a little stronger.
"Gina." Ari looked down.
Sev had been afraid she was after him. He had been right.
"Gina? Gabe's sister?"
Ari nodded.
"She found me."
Lakota stepped to Sev’s bedside. "I think it was revenge or something. That’s what Trace said."
Sev’s eyes flashed with anger and his heart monitor spiked. "What’s he doing here?"
Ari squeezed his hand. "He was at the party with Gina. He—"
"You led her to me?" Sev’s voice sounded stronger than he looked. "Get out of here."
"Sev, no, I didn’t lead her to you. She used me to get to you. I didn’t know. I never would have—"
"Get out!" Sev’s shout quieted everyone in the room just as the doctor pushed his way in.
"What’s going on in here? Everyone out, now." The doctor hit everyone with the hairy eyeball then approached the bed. "That means you, too, Ari."
"No." Sev clutched his hand, making it clear he wasn’t going anywhere. "Ari stays." Sev was clearly struggling to speak again, his voice scratchy and labored after yelling at his father. "Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of him."
The doctor shrugged. "Okay, fine, but the rest of you have to wait outside."
Ari got the impression he just wanted to quiet the place down and keep Sev calm.
"When can I…go home?" Sev said as soon as everyone had left.
"We should keep you at least a couple of days. You’re already healing very nicely thanks to Ari’s blood. There’s no permanent damage." The doctor turned toward him. "Ari, if you’ll agree, we’ll transfuse you so Sev can drink from you again in six hours. It will help speed up his healing. But we need to make sure you keep your own strength up, too."
"Of course." He just wanted Sev back home, where he could take care of him, dote on him, and feed him chicken soup or whatever the hell else Sev needed. Right now, he would give his left arm for Sev.
"Okay, I’ll send in the nurse in a few minutes to begin the transfusion." The doctor patted Sev on the shoulder. "You’re a lucky vampire, Sev. Ari saved your life." He smiled then turned and left them alone.
"Sev, I’m so sorry about earlier, at my parents’ house. You deserved better than that."
"That doesn’t matter, anymore, babe." Sev cleared his throat. "What matters…is that you’re here now." He still struggled to speak.
"But if I hadn’t behaved the way I did, you wouldn’t have left and you wouldn’t have been shot."
"Sshh." Sev raised his free hand limply to shush him. "Gina would have found…another opportunity to try and kill me. Maybe one with better…odds of success. So, stop worrying. If anything, it’s my own fault for…letting my guard down."
"Still, I’m sorry. I hurt you and I don’t ever want to do that again." He kissed Sev’s hand and lowered his forehead over Sev’s chest. Right over the bandage covering his heart. The heart he never wanted to hurt again and would cherish forever.
Sev placed his hand on the back of Ari’s head. "Hey, the doc was right."
"About what?" Ari turned his head and looked up into eyes that made him feel like he was home.
"I am lucky," Sev said. "Because I have you."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Trace had slipped away from the group earlier. His skin crawled. His muscles twitched. His power was seeping through every cell of his body. Once he got himself relatively composed, he knew it was time to go.
As he hurried out back to his custom chopper, he quickly pulled out his phone and dashed out a text to his mistress.
9-1-1 On my way.
He didn't wait for a response and slipped on his sunglasses, climbed on to the seat, and started the engine. He revved it once then put the bike in gear and hauled ass, his leather duster flapping like a cape in the wind.
That's right. Super Sub was on the move. And he had a bad itch that needed scratching by Wonder Domme.
It took him no time to reach the elegant home in the suburbs. No one would ever imagine the depraved actions that went on inside the pristine home set back from the road with manicured lawns and a Hallmark card effect.
But inside those walls was what Trace needed. Pain and humiliation awaited him, and he couldn't get off his bike fast enough before stripping out of his coat and flinging it over the seat.
His power clawed at him. He needed fixes more frequently these days. He was getting worse. It terrified him that one day soon he would lose total control of the power he was cursed with. His mother had intended the power as a gift to save him, but that showed how little she had known about mixed-bloods at the time. And now the burdensome spell couldn't be undone, especially after what had happened in his old life.
The front door of the house swung open as he reached the porch. Immediately, he put his head down. He wasn't allowed to look her in the eye until she gave him permission.
"Mistress."
"My servant." She stood aside. She knew he had little time. "Undress and get on your knees."
Trace stripped and fell to his knees after she closed the door. Already, he could feel his power ebbing. Thank God he had made it in time.
"What would you have of me, my mistress?" He kept his gaze on the immaculate marble floor and watched as her black, leather boots came into view in front of him.
She strapped a collar around his neck and hooked a length of leather to it. "I have work for you to do, my pet. But first, downstairs." She tugged on the leash and he fell to all fours and crawled after her as she led him through the house.
He could hear the subtle tap-tap-tap of a riding crop, as if she was gently tapping it against her own thigh as she walked.
Trace didn't love her, and she didn't love him. They trusted one another, but that was as far as their relationship went. Sexual congress wasn't the objective during these scenes with her, control was. He needed the pain and to be controlled to bring his power down. Even so, sometimes they didn't waste the erectio
ns he obtained during these sessions and had sex. Trace wasn’t able to get an erection without feeling humiliated, dominated, or otherwise tortured in some way, so it seemed a shame not to enjoy a carnal relation when he got the chance.
He crawled behind her, the marble and hardwood floors biting against his knees until he reached the door to the basement. He began to stand, but she smacked him with the crop.
"Crawl down backward, servant."
He bowed his head to the floor. "Yes, Mistress."
Trace turned around and slid his knee back until he found the edge of the first stair then lowered it to the next. Then he lowered his other knee until he found the next step. And so forth. It was slow going, and the mistress tapped her booted foot impatiently as she tugged on the leash.
"Hurry up. You move like molasses, my pet."
Trace tried to move more quickly, but he could only go so fast.
She whipped the riding crop down over one ass cheek, then the other. "So slow you move."
Then Trace shuddered as the tip of the crop slid down the crack of his ass and rested against his scrotum.
Yes, yes, yes!
With rapid, gentle swats she spanked the tender sac of flesh. Tap-tap-tap. The sting was delicious, and Trace groaned as he went still halfway down the stairs. For him, pain was pleasure. Aaaahhh.
She tugged on the leash again. "Stop wasting time, servant."
The riding crop was pulled away from his balls and switched down over his ass again, spurring him to get moving.
"My apologies, Mistress."
He crawled backward the rest of the way down the stairs, following the scent of leather and disinfectant. He wasn't her only submissive, and she kept her equipment expertly cleaned. Not that he really cared. It wasn't like anything the others left behind would hurt him.
As he turned around at the base of the stairs, he looked up at her as she walked over to a shelf of accoutrements. Her long, blond hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, and he imagined that her lips were painted blood red.
Other than the knee-high boots, she wore a leather bustier and cuffs, as well as a leather choker around her neck.
She turned around and he quickly ducked his face to the floor. She tsked and slinked back to him before kneeling down in front of him. "Are you looking at me, pet?"
He kept his gaze on her boots and nodded guiltily.
"Awe, now. That's a bad pet. Bad bad pet." She brushed her hand over his bowed head, scratching his bald scalp with her fingernails.
Trace had looked at her on purpose, because he needed the punishment. "Yes, Mistress. I've been bad. I need to be punished."
She swatted him across the back with the riding crop. "And you shall be. Follow me, bad little doggy."
Trace began to stand, purposely looking to disobey her, and he was rewarded with a strike of the riding crop across the back of the thigh.
Fuck! That shit was beginning to sting like hell. And didn't that just get him all fucking excited.
"Stay down, servant. I didn't tell you to stand."
He bowed and knelt once more, crawling behind her to the area of the basement she used for suspension.
The air was cool in the basement, but that would change soon enough. Before long, he would be covered in sweat as she pushed him to his limits of pain tolerance.
She stopped and stepped her boot up onto a raised block of wood. "My boot needs shined servant." She switched him lightly on the back of the shoulder.
Not wasting time, Trace leaned forward and licked the shiny, patent leather, eager for the debasement.
"Mmm, you are in need tonight, aren't you?" Her voice crooned as he continued swiping his tongue higher, licking up the seam of the zipper on the inside of the boot until he reached her knee.
After a few minutes had passed, she shoved him away with a wicked laugh, as if she was amused by some debauched thought of what she planned to do to him. "Now you may stand," she said, turning away indifferently.
Trace rose to his full six-foot-five, naked, his dark skin gleaming in the faint light, his cock already stiffening. He knew what lay ahead and it excited him. He didn't arouse easily, but during these scenes, he always did. It was as if his power subsided enough while being worked over that he could feel the rest of his body and experience other sensations than tension. Because tension was all his power allowed him to feel outside these walls. He had to exercise constant control over his power to keep from losing himself and his mind.
And didn't powerful, control-freak types often make the best subs? Trace had often heard at the scene parties he attended that the more powerful or controlling someone was in the real world, the better they responded to submission. That was certainly true of him.
"What's on your mind, my pet?" Mistress Diamond prowled around him, inspecting him, trailing the tip of the riding crop over the curve of his ass before giving him a gentle swat. It would get worse. It always did.
"Answer me, servant!" She smacked his thigh.
Trace winced. "You, Mistress. You're on my mind. You're always on my mind." A lie, but his training required such an answer.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, Mistress. I can't stop thinking about you."
"And what do you think about?"
His deep voice lowered even more as he replied. "The gift of pain you give me."
"And you like that?" She struck his ass with the riding crop.
Trace bit back a grunt. "Yes, Mistress."
"Give me your wrists, servant."
Jesus! Yes! Trace's knees trembled at the thought of what was coming and he lifted his arms.
With expert fingers, she secured thick, wide, leather cuffs around both wrists then attached a heavy clip connected to a chain to the hook between the cuffs. In a matter of seconds, he was hoisted into the air, his arms pulled tight above him as she cranked the handle of a pulley until he was suspended at least a foot off the floor.
His muscles pulled and stretched, and his cock sprang nearly straight up. Shit, she hadn't even had to use a cock binding on him tonight. Probably would have helped keep his already-looming orgasm under better restraint if she had, though.
"Mmm, you are ready for me, I see." She knelt behind him and he felt her secure the spreader between his feet, cuffing his ankles to each end after prying his legs open.
Fuck! He was about to come.
She seemed to sense this. "Do not come, yet, my pet. I will be very displeased if you come before I am ready for you to."
Rainbows and unicorns. Rainbows and unicorns. And rotten meat. Yes, rotten, spoiled meat. That works. It was the only thing he could think about to bring his erection under control, but it worked and his pending orgasm took a breather and chilled out.
"You may look at me now, my pet." She stepped in front of him.
As he thought, her lips were blood red and her hazel eyes appraised him scornfully. She was a beautiful woman, and an excellent mistress as far as humans went, but he felt nothing for her besides his trust that she could give him what he needed.
She held a horse-hair flogger in her hand and brushed it down his chest. Trace shivered. With soft strokes, she brushed it side-to-side over his torso. The coarse texture of the hair scratched his skin. Lower still the flogger crept, stopping just before brushing over the head of his cock. She knew that would send him over, didn't she? Then she pulled back and lashed him with it. In two diagonal strokes, she whipped it down over his chest.
Trace winced and jerked in his restraints. She circled him and repeated the whipping action on his back until he cried out.
Mistress Diamond stopped and gave him a rest from the flogger, but not from a verbal berating. "Quiet down! You're weak, servant. Weak!" She waited another couple of seconds then lashed him again before rubbing the horse hair over his ass then down and against his exposed scrotum. The rough texture hurt against his sensitive skin, but that only made it better. He liked the pain. He needed it. And she knew that.
Trace's orgasm pushed
forward again, unable to withstand the pain.
The flogger skimmed back up to his shoulder as he felt a cold, metal cylinder press between his ass cheeks. It was thick and heavy and breached him as she pushed.
He thought he saw stars from the tight fullness and the way it stretched him. She pushed the cylinder in slowly, then drew it back out, back in, and out, taking turns whipping him with the flogger. She hadn't used lubricant on the cylinder and he winced at the dry, slow strokes. He knew the intent of the cylinder wasn't to hurt him. Just to make him uncomfortable. And it worked. Very well, in fact. In combination with another whip of the flogger, the stroke of the cylinder had Trace on the verge. He wasn't going to be able to wait.
"May I come, please, Mistress?" He was barely holding it in as it was.
His jaw clenched and his teeth bit together. His more urgent sessions usually progressed this way, with a relatively rapid release followed by hours of intense submission that usually included two or more orgasms. Trace had a feeling tonight would be a good night.
She stepped in front of him and scowled, but Trace could just sense the pleasure in her eyes that she could drive him toward the brink so quickly. She stood there, not speaking, not moving, just watching him.
"Please, Mistress." The muscles in Trace's neck and shoulders strained and his abdomen quivered. He couldn't hold back much longer. "Please, may I come, Mistress?"
She clamped her hand over his balls and squeezed. "Yes, you may."
His entire body convulsed as she gripped and twisted, and almost immediately he released a violent shower of semen that sprayed into the air then fell over her arm and rained down on the concrete floor. The chains and equipment holding him rattled and shook, his whole body wracked with endless spasms as she continued to squeeze his scrotum. The pain – the beautiful pain – blew him apart until nothing was left, and he slumped over, spent, feeling like a lamb left for sacrifice.
A minute later, he felt himself being lowered to the floor, and his widespread feet touched the cold surface within seconds. Then the chain and cuffs were removed from his wrists and the spreader removed from between his legs. The cylinder in his ass had already been removed. Hell, maybe it had fallen out on its own during his orgasm, and he had simply failed to realize it while in the throes of ecstasy.