Master of the Game

by Jane Kindred

  While Anzhela said her tearful good-byes and made sure the girls were well bundled against the cold, Phaleg stood stiffly inside the door, hands clasped behind his back and eyes on nothing.

  Silk had come out of his room to show Phaleg he didn’t care one way or the other about his presence. He just happened to be wrapped in an extremely expensive red dressing gown in his namesake fabric, embroidered with a deep-scarlet curled droplet motif, lined with matching dyed Aravothan wool, and tied with a black velvet sash to match the lapels. It was the warmest thing he owned; it had nothing to do with the damned angel.

  “Have some tea,” he said after a moment, trying for a casual tone of disinterest and instead sounding like he was giving a command. Phaleg started visibly, his gaze drawn toward Silk, and came forward with a nod as though relieved to have something to obey. Silk stepped into the kitchen and poured Phaleg a cup.

  The angel took it when Silk handed it to him, sipping it where he stood, while Silk stared at him and said nothing to ease the awkwardness of the situation. He knew Phaleg preferred cream and sugar. He didn’t offer it.

  “Thank you,” said Phaleg after a moment. “It’s chilly this morning.”

  “Isn’t it.”

  Phaleg set the cup in the saucer and stared down at it. “Silk.” He stopped, sounding as if he had nothing else to say, but after a moment, he took a deep breath. “I know you don’t want my apology—”

  “Of course I want your fucking apology.” Silk stifled the urge to knock the cup and saucer right out of the pale, shaking hand. “I want you groveling on your knees and admitting you’re an anti-demonic, privileged little asshole and begging me to forgive you.”

  Phaleg blushed and made a jerky, conflicted movement as though he might drop to the floor and do it.

  “Not literally, dammit.” Silk ran both hands over his scalp, smoothing hair that didn’t need smoothing. “Oh hell.”

  Phaleg set the tea aside. “I am sorry. I betrayed your trust, and there’s no excuse.” There was certainly no doubting his sincerity. But Silk couldn’t decide if sincerity mattered. “I wish I could take it back and erase it all with some kind of demon magic from the market and make it so that I had never hurt you. And that you didn’t hate me.”

  “What do you care if I hate you? I’m a demon. It’s a wonder I can even bathe and dress myself or walk about Raqia without succumbing to the urge to charge across the Palace Bridge and eat an angelic baby.”

  Phaleg’s eyes bulged in their sockets, and he opened his mouth and closed it, tried again to say something after clearing his throat, and finally emitted a high-pitched squeak of uncontrollable laughter. He immediately covered his mouth, looking horrified.

  Silk looked down at his crossed arms to avoid smiling. Why the hell did he want to smile? Why did he want to close the space between them and take Phaleg’s hand from his mouth and replace it with his lips, with his hands clutched in the golden curls? “I don’t hate you.” Well, shit. That was out. He raised his eyes to see Phaleg regarding him with surprise. That made two of them. Ah, well. In for a facet, in for a whole pouch of them. “Come by when you’re free.”

  Silk’s words repeated in Phaleg’s head. “Come by when you’re free.” Had he really meant that? Had Phaleg really heard that? He’d told himself to forget Silk. Phaleg had botched it with him utterly and deserved his scorn. He’d served his “other master”, as Silk had said, and done what he had to do. He was not a demon and didn’t belong in Silk’s world. No matter how intense the memories of their last night together, he’d accepted that he wasn’t likely to experience such a connection again. With anyone.

  And now… Did Silk mean for him to come by to talk? He couldn’t dare hope it was for anything more. But he was incapable of thinking of anything else as the day seemed to drag on without end. A grueling meeting with the principality and his advisors over the problem of the Virtue Auria went on until well after midnight. There were difficult waters to navigate when it came to relations with the Princedom of Aravoth. A nation ruled by a council of Sars—Aravothan princes—rather than a sovereign principality, they had long resented being subject to the Firmament. The Virtues not only belonged to a higher angelic order, theirs was the order most concerned with keeping celestial law. To accuse one of their own of actually committing a crime might create an international incident.

  Auria had said nothing to incriminate himself with regard to his treasonous activities, and no one would speak against him. With the Powers Phaleg had planted now dead—and the dead demon Gaspard being blamed for it—they had no case against him for conspiracy. The bodies were burned beyond recognition, and any forensic examination to determine the cause of death would be conducted by the Virtues themselves. Pursuing such an investigation would be fruitless. Thus, the only thing they had on Auria was his questionable treatment of lawfully purchased slaves. And even that Phaleg couldn’t prove.

  The principality’s advisors convinced him at length that it would be a great insult to place the value of a handful of demon girls above the unimpeachable virtue…of a Virtue. Auria was to be quietly invited to leave Elysium and never return to the Firmament.

  Phaleg left the palace tired and discouraged, uncertain whether he should attempt to drop by the Stone Horse at such a late hour. His better judgment told him to go home to bed, but he knew he’d only lie there revisiting Silk’s words. He had the use of a supernal carriage, so it wouldn’t take him too long to get to Raqia. The club was open all night. Silk might still be about.

  He might, of course, be otherwise occupied. It was a chance Phaleg would have to take.

  It was the first time he’d been to the Stone Horse on his own since the raid. Having finally sold his interest to Belphagor, he had to purchase a membership, accompanied by signing a document acknowledging that no one paid for sex here, and that while one might be invited to engage in intimate acts with other patrons or entertainers and might himself proposition another for such activities, these were transactions of mutual consent, not commerce. No facets allowed.

  On the single occasion he’d been here since the reopening, Phaleg had been hard-pressed to pay attention to anything but the vulgar display Silk had put on to show he’d moved on. The atmosphere was decidedly different from what he remembered. The Stone Horse had always been different from the usual brothel—the gender of its prostitutes aside—but it seemed now to have a more voluptuous feel. Instead of the patronizing dynamic of consumer and commodity, it was a sort of celebration of mutual desire. Propositions by entertainers seemed to be born of genuine interest and not necessity. Phaleg could see the benefits of both models, but he found this one much more to his liking. Not that he was here to engage in his own gratification. He was looking for Silk. And Silk seemed to be nowhere about.

  Phaleg began to imagine Silk must be in a private room or in the dungeon with some eager and alluring demon like Khai who wasn’t weak and obsequious like himself. Phaleg knew his angelic prudishness and awkwardness had to be unattractive. It must annoy Silk how easily he broke, how desperate he was to be used and debased. Silk was the most self-assured and sexually confident demon—individual of any blood, for that matter—Phaleg had ever met. And he was exceptionally beautiful and unique, where Phaleg must look to him like every bland, uptight angel in the Heavens. Silk could have anyone he wanted. What the hell was Phaleg doing here?

  Shame washed over him, like it always did when he stepped back to observe himself objectively. He was pathetic, clinging to an ambiguous phrase uttered by a demon who had no need for him: “Come by when you’re free.” What made him think that meant Silk wanted to be with him? It could have meant anything: I guess I could tolerate you for enough facets. Or I have nothing against you personally, so feel free to patronize my club. And even if it was an invitation of sorts, why in Heaven’s name would Silk want him to rush over to the Stone Horse like a slathering fool the very night he’d issued it? Did he think Silk was desperate? Like he was?

  �
��What the hell are you doing here?”

  Phaleg whirled, his face blazing, to see Silk standing behind him, the velvety gray eyes regarding him with frank disapproval. What kind of an idiot was he? Of course Silk didn’t want him. “Sorry. I-I don’t know what I was thinking. I misunderstood you.” Phaleg twisted his cap in his hands. “I’ve had a trying day, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. Forgive me.” He ducked his head to step around the demon, but Silk blocked his way with a palm to his chest.

  “Phaleg. I meant, what are you doing here. I thought I told you before to come to the flat from now on.” Silk shook his head at Phaleg’s dumbfounded silence. “Bozhe moi, but you’re adorable when you’re being stupid.” The hand at his chest curled into a fist around his lapels, and Silk turned decisively and dragged him to the exit.

  Outside, Silk thrust Phaleg ahead of him toward the apartment and up the stairs, steering him into the master bedroom once they were inside.

  “I waited for you all evening.” Silk loosened his necktie and leaned his shapely ass against the bureau while Phaleg stood staring at him, still gripping his hat. “I assumed you thought better of it, so I gave up and dressed for the club.”

  Phaleg focused on Silk’s long fingers toying with the knot at his throat. “I was with the principality. The session was pretty intense. I only just got released.”

  Silk’s hand moved up to smooth the hair at his temple, drawing Phaleg’s gaze to his face. The gray eyes held mischief. And maybe more. “I had no idea you bottomed to the principality.”

  Phaleg blushed. “Bottomed?”

  “You do know what a bottom is, don’t you?” Silk pushed away from the bureau and stepped close to him, sliding one arm around his waist and down until it caressed his behind. “A sweet little bottom, like this one…or like a dirty angelwhore on his knees sucking supernal cock.” Phaleg’s mouth dropped open, and Silk smiled. “Perfect. Keep it just like that.” He pressed down on Phaleg’s chin with a silky thumb. “Maybe just a little wider.”

  The demon stepped back, unbuttoning the pants of his suit, and released his hard cock. He tilted his head at Phaleg. “Where do you belong in this scenario?”

  With a start, Phaleg let go of his cap and dropped to his knees, raising his eyes to Silk’s as the cock slid into his mouth.

  “I love that look on your face,” Silk breathed. The demon drew him closer with a hand to the back of his head. “Especially when it’s full of my cock.” Phaleg gratefully devoured him, his own cock straining against his dress whites as he sucked and moaned, burying his face in the curly hair at Silk’s groin. “When Belphagor first told me about you,” Silk murmured, “told me what a pure submissive you were—I didn’t believe him. I thought you had to be just another angel who wanted to be pleasured by a demon without taking any responsibility for it. I never imagined how much pleasure you would give me, how much of yourself you would give me. How much I would miss this when I couldn’t have it.”

  Phaleg moaned with regret when Silk pulled him off with his fingers clenched in Phaleg’s curls at the back of his head.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  Phaleg nodded. “Da, ser. Yes, sir?” He wasn’t sure which he was supposed to use.

  “Just answer. Just tell me you hear me.”

  “I hear you.”

  Silk regarded him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I’m not sure you do. Take off your uniform. Nudity seems to improve your senses.”

  Puzzled by Silk’s odd mood, Phaleg obeyed. As usual, it took some doing to get the elkskins off. He was glad to be out of them, he had to admit, though it was cold in the room.

  When he knelt once more, Silk stroked his hands down the sides of Phaleg’s face and continued down, stopping to pinch his nipples between his soft thumbs and forefingers until Phaleg groaned. “You’re shivering. I’d like to think I make you tremble, but it’s awfully chilly in here. Put another log on the fire.”

  Phaleg did as he was told, stoking the low flame as the fresh log caught until a warm blaze was going. He turned to find Silk holding the length of rope he’d used on him before. Without question, he came forward to be trussed.

  Each knot Silk tied made him feel more secure, as if the rope were Silk’s arms around him, holding him tight. He stood patiently while Silk made his elaborate knots, not realizing he’d closed his eyes until Silk’s lips brushed his, and he opened them—both lips and eyes—and moaned when Silk pulled away.

  “On the bed, angelwhore. On your knees. Face the fireplace.”

  Phaleg climbed onto the bed with difficulty. The fire was to the left of the bed, so he knelt on the right edge, thinking Silk meant to cane him. His cock got harder, pulling against the rope and making him groan. Behind him, Silk bound his ankles, though his knees were pushed wide.

  When Silk came around to the front, his jacket and necktie were off and he was stepping out of his pants. Still in his short boots and his crisp linen shirt, Silk climbed onto the bed and stood balanced in front of him, though Phaleg could barely stay on his own knees.

  Silk stroked his cock and twisted the fingers of his other hand in Phaleg’s hair. “I could do whatever I want to you.” He teased his cock against Phaleg’s lips. “You’re completely at my mercy. Is that how you want to be?”

  “Yes,” Phaleg breathed, grasping for the swollen head with his mouth and crying out when Silk yanked his head back so he couldn’t reach.

  “Quiet,” Silk ordered. “Remember, no one’s supposed to hear you. This isn’t a brothel.”

  “Sorry,” Phaleg whispered, his eyes on Silk’s, glittering at him like a feral cat’s in the firelight.

  “Maybe I’ll fuck your mouth until I come and then beat your ass while the come drips down your pretty angelwhore chin, because it amuses me. What do you think?”

  Phaleg nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir.”

  “Not sir.”

  Phaleg bit his lip. “Yes, milord.”

  Silk’s face lit with pleasure. “You remembered. But not that tonight either.”

  “What should I call you?”

  Silk looked amused. “What do you want to call me?”

  What Phaleg wanted to call him right now was a term of endearment he knew Silk wouldn’t care for. Heaven help him.

  While he tried to think what to say, Silk stepped down off the bed and Phaleg thought he’d bollixed it, but Silk was getting something from his toy box. He returned with a leather ball attached to a small belt.

  “I think I prefer you when you say nothing at all. Open up.”

  Phaleg opened his mouth and Silk shoved the ball in, strapping the belt around his head and buckling it tight at the base of his skull.

  “You won’t be able to use your safe word. So if I tell you to do something you don’t feel comfortable doing, just shake your head, and I’ll understand. I won’t be angry.” Silk took a bottle of oil from the nightstand and Phaleg’s eyes widened. From Silk’s confession the last time they’d been together, he was sure this would never happen. Maybe Silk was going to fuck him with one of his toys. He’d done that before. But Silk got up onto the bed once more, this time on his knees, and poured some of the oil into his hand. He stroked it over Phaleg’s cock.

  Phaleg moaned with pleasure. Silk’s hands always felt like his namesake, and the oil made it an even more sensuous experience.

  Silk set the bottle aside. “Now, angelwhore. You’re going to give it to me and give it to me good.”

  Give it to him? Phaleg was taken aback, trying to figure out what in Heaven Silk meant. How was he supposed to give him anything all trussed up like this? But Silk had turned around, still holding Phaleg’s cock, and he rubbed the slick head against the cleft of his ass beneath his shirt. Phaleg stared. He couldn’t mean—but Silk placed the head of Phaleg’s cock between his cheeks. There was no question what he wanted Phaleg to give him.

  The demon turned to look over his shoulder, still upright on his knees, a question in his eyes. “Well, angelwhore?
Are you going to fuck me, or what?”

  It was impossible to take any action tied the way he was, but Silk raised his other arm over his shoulder and cupped the back of Phaleg’s neck as he pushed himself back against the cock, his hand firmly guiding Phaleg in. Phaleg’s groan around his mouthful of leather as the strong ring of muscle yielded to admit him was louder than Silk’s. The demon slid down Phaleg’s cock, his body clenching tight around him, and brought his hand around front to his own, still cupping Phaleg’s neck with the other.

  “I told you to fuck me. Now get busy and make me come.”

  The only muscles Phaleg could use were his groin and hips, and he pumped them eagerly, letting his body fall against Silk’s, knowing he would hold him up. He’d never expected to be this intimate with Silk, and he’d never imagined fucking could feel like surrender. He moaned into his gag, head against Silk’s shoulder, thrusting while Silk rode him. The soft noises Silk was making were driving him wild, as was watching Silk pound on his own cock while Phaleg fucked him.

  When Silk shuddered and tensed, Phaleg pumped his hips faster, shivering as Silk spilled onto the velvet coverlet. “Bozhe moi, yes!” Silk gasped. “Fuck me hard, angelwhore. I want to feel you come.”

  Phaleg needed no encouragement. He grunted helplessly into the leather ball and shot, Silk’s ass clutching him tight and the rope tightening around his scrotum until he thought he might pass out.

  When they’d both relaxed, Silk drew himself off and pulled Phaleg down with him onto his side, turning toward him to unbuckle the strap of the gag.

  “I thought you didn’t want to,” Phaleg gasped when it came away.

  “I didn’t want to do it to you. Doesn’t mean I don’t want you to do it to me. And, damn, sweet angelwhore. I’m going to want you to do that a lot.” Silk kissed him and worked the knots free from Phaleg’s hands while their tongues played together, reluctantly letting go of his mouth to finish unbinding him.