by Bea Paige
A sharp pain pierces my chest, but despite the roar of my demon, I let him.
I let him take care of me.
What does it matter? It’s just one moment. Tomorrow, I’ll be stronger.
He looks at my reflection in the mirror, waiting for my rejection, my anger. Then drops his head when I don’t respond, continuing to clean me when I don’t tell him to stop.
It’s just as well I’m facing away from him, and he’s returned his attention to cleaning me rather than trying to pierce my soul with his gaze because right now, looking into his eyes would be a mistake. I might just drown in them.
Biting down hard on my need to want to punish him for loving me, I watch Ivan through the misted mirror. I’m on the edge of being that person I promised I’d never be again.
I refuse to hurt him like that again. Forcing myself to relax I study Ivan’s broad shoulders and the flex of his arm muscles as he cleans me. His hair has fallen into his eyes, covering his dark brows. Yet, I can see how happy this act makes him. Ivan draws his bottom lip between his teeth in concentration as he washes me. After a few more passes, he places the washcloth in the bath and reaches for the towel to dry me. Once I’m clean and dry to his satisfaction, he presses a gentle kiss against the globe of my arse then rises to his feet, swiping a hand through his hair.
I find myself shaking, his attentiveness affecting me far more than his efforts to make me come. I’m not used to such thoughtfulness, it’s hard to take. How messed up does that make me, that such a simple gesture can make me crumble so?
“Ro-, Domina?” he questions, seeing how my body trembles.
“Clean yourself,” I respond, deflecting any empathy.
Ivan nods tightly, rinses and wets the cloth once more then washes himself. He’s still painfully hard, the head of his penis engorged with his lust, still not fully satiated.
“Go into my room. Wait for me on your knees by my bed,” I order him, willing the shaking to subside.
“Yes, Domina,” he responds, keeping his eyes downcast as he follows my instructions. Just like he always does.
My submissive.
My Ivan.
Mine.
Chapter 4
Erik, Kirkwall – Summer, 1998
“I’m going to the beach. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” I call from the front door, not bothering to wait for a response. I reach the garden gate, when Ma opens the front door and steps out onto the porch.
“Be back for supper. Viktor is arriving tonight, and you need to practice for your recital tomorrow. He’s looking forward to hearing you play.”
“Yes, Ma. I’ll be back by supper.” I sigh heavily and yank the gate open.
“It’s Mother, not Ma,” she calls after me.
Proper as always. Mother for me, Ms Hadley for Ivan and Anton. Always so formal. Sometimes she doesn’t feel like my mother at all. Then I remember that she isn’t. At least not my birth mother.
I’ve no fucking clue who my birth mother is…
Do I really want to know?
Over the years I’ve gone back and forth between being desperate to find out and having no interest whatsoever. Ma told me what she’d done… abandoning me on the steps of a hospital on the mainland at a few hours old almost eighteen years ago now. Sometimes I wonder what had happened to force her to do something so heartless. Other times, I don’t care.
Today, I’m not sure which part of me is winning.
Stepping out onto the beach I start to jog. I need to run off this pent up energy. For the last two weeks, Ma has been reminding me that Viktor is coming to visit. I’ve really no idea why he’s decided to come here, apart from the fact that he intends on listening to me play the violin. Frankly, I can’t think of anything worse.
Don’t get me wrong, I love playing the violin, but I hate putting on a show. It’s always been something just for me, but Ma is hellbent on making it something for everyone else, and I hate that.
“Practice makes perfect,” she said to me last night as I practiced until my fingers bled.
She’d wrapped my fingers in plasters, then made me continue. I should hate her for it, but I can’t. I know she loves me, wants the best for me, but I wish she’d just let me, and my music, be. It’s the only thing that’s mine, and now she wants me to share it with everyone else. She wants to show me off like some prized possession. The thing is, I refuse to belong to anyone but myself. I was abandoned by my birth mother, and now I’m coddled by my adoptive mother and owned by Viktor. He likes to remind me of that fact every time he thinks I’m pushing the limits of his patriarchy. Just like he loves to tell Anton how much of a disappointment he is.
I know one thing; I’m fucking grateful he isn’t my father. But given what he pays for, he may as well be. Ma doesn’t help, she panders to his every whim because she’s so grateful he hired her and is so grateful he saw fit to pay for all my tuition, both musically and academically.
I just feel owned. By him, by Ma, and every other fucker who gets to listen to my music without invite. Furious, I funnel my anger into my steps and keep running. It helps to clear my head and makes me feel at least a little in control.
A harsh wind blows off the shore, sending a spray of water up into my face. It stings. It might be summer here in Kirkwall, but there’s still a bite to the air and jogging keeps me both warm and sane.
There’s also another reason why I decided to make a break for it. It’s just past midday, and she’ll be swimming just off the little outbreak of rocks at the far end of the beach, just like every day since I arrived.
Emmie.
Sweet, sweet Emmie.
As I get closer, I see her blonde head bob on the surface of the water before she swims towards the outcrop of jagged rock. A minute later she’s hauling herself up, not caring that she’s probably ripping her shins in the process. Fortunately, she has the sense to wear rubber-soled shoes, like the ones you buy in the beach shops. On her they look beautiful.
Everything about her is beautiful.
And Ma hates her. When I’d first mentioned Emmie in passing, trying to gage Ma’s reaction to me having a girlfriend, her one and only response was to stay away from her.
“She’s bad news, Erik. Nothing but a harlot…Stay away.”
That’s what she’s said, and whilst it pissed me off that she referred to Emmie that way, I’d acted like I agreed with her, knowing that the next day we were meeting up.
It’s just as well then, that these clandestine visits are a secret between us. Spending time with Emmie is about the only thing that has kept me sane these past few weeks on the island.
If Ma knew about our daily get togethers, she’d fly me back to London without a second thought.
And I don’t want to leave, let alone think about the end of summer which is only a few short weeks away.
All I want is Emmie.
And all she wants is me.
Chapter 5
Rose – Present Day
I pull the bathroom door shut to give myself a moment to breathe. My heart is pounding, my hands trembling. I’m a fucking mess.
Why am I falling apart now?
I need to be strong.
I need to be stronger.
Wiping away the mist on the mirror, I stare at myself. The woman looking back is almost unrecognisable. She’s a stranger in so many ways.
Has that tiny shard of love I allowed in really made this much difference, or is something else going on?
My demon snarls. No! I don’t do love.
I can’t.
I’ve accepted a tiny piece of Ivan’s, but that’s it. Nothing more.
Pulling myself up straight, I grip hold of the vanity unit and work through the five ballet positions until my heart has stopped its erratic beating and I’ve centred myself. Only then do I walk into my room.
Ivan is on his knees, with his head bowed just like I’d commanded…
But he’s not the only man in the room. Anton is sitting on an armcha
ir in the corner, watching me. I catch his gaze and wonder how long he’s been there. Had he heard us fucking? Had he watched through the open door like he’s watching us both now?
“Anton?” I question.
He presses his mouth shut and doesn’t answer me, but the look in his eyes tells me all I need to know. He’d seen everything.
“Are you staying?” I ask him, as I walk over to Ivan who remains submissive despite the fact his best friend sits watching us both. My fingertips feather over the smooth skin of Ivan’s shoulder, relishing the sigh that escape his mouth.
Anton answers me with a one worded question, and I know from that alone he wants to stay. I want him to stay too.
“Red?”
“Yes, Red,” I respond softly.
It’s a colour he’ll never see, but it’s a colour he understands now. He nods, then picks up a sketchpad and pencil from the floor and begins to draw. A tiny smile curls the corner of my lip, and a strange sense of peace washes over me at the sound of his pencil scratching against paper. His release has somehow become a drug of my own.
I want him to produce the same kind of art he’d done when I’d lain naked and raw before him. I want him to see me, us through his eyes, in the starkness of black and white.
Turning my attention back to Ivan, I reach for my weekend bag on my bed and pull out the red length of silk I’d brought with me. Everything else, I left behind. The flogger, the whip, the handcuffs, the paddle, they’re all still lined up neatly in his chest-of-drawers back at the manor. I pull the length of silk between my hands, relishing the feel it elicits. It’s the only thing I had to bring with me. Funny how a simple length of silk can mean so much.
“Stand,” I command.
Ivan gets up.
“Face me.”
He does as I ask, turning around. I’m acutely aware of Anton’s hot gaze, his heavy breathing mixing with Ivan’s own. My nostrils flare as I try to regain control.
“Hold out your hands.”
Ivan stretches out his arms, crossing his wrists. He understands what I mean to do. Tying the silk tightly around them, I wrestle with my own wayward thoughts. The last time we did this, I lost control and Anton had to bite me to snap me out of my anger, my pain. This time, I vow to be different.
No matter what. I won’t be the person Roman was. I may thrive in the darkness, but I won’t be cruel. Ivan keeps his gaze locked on the floor, allowing his tied wrists to drop against his body. For a brief moment I just look at him, head bowed, shoulders relaxed, his semi-erect cock twitching as I run my fingers over his shoulder. Part of me wants to push my pussy into his face and order him to pleasure me with his tongue. The other part, a much larger part, is desperate to claw back some control by marking his skin. I itch to feel the sting just as much as he does.
“I didn’t bring the flogger, Ivan. So, I’m going to use my hand. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Domina,” he responds, his voice dropping an octave.
“What’s the safe word.”
“Red,” he murmurs.
“Good. Turn around. Lay face down, arms up.”
Ivan climbs on the bed, the muscles in his back bunching as he moves across the mattress awkwardly. He’s a fucking beautiful man, there’s no denying that. The grace of his dance background can still be found in the strength of his muscles and the length of his body as he settles on the bed.
I climb up behind him, straddling his thighs, all too aware that I’m wet for him as I graze myself against his skin. His responding moan tells me he’s very much aware of my desire too given the slickness between my legs.
Without warning, I raise my hand and slap Ivan’s arse. The pink mark that follows is as satisfying for him as it is for me. He bites out a groan as I let the sting settle then follow it with a gentle graze of my fingers over the same area.
In the corner of the room I hear Anton draw in a breath.
I turn to Anton. Our eyes meet and there is understanding in them, excitement, maybe even a little adoration. His fingers begin to move across the paper, his attention drawn away from me as he etches Ivan and I onto the blank sheet.
“Don’t stop,” he says, and I know he echoes Ivan’s thoughts, who is waiting with bated breath beneath me.
I slap Ivan again, harder this time. His shoulders tense then relax as the sting fades and I caress him once more.
My handprint begins to bloom, marking him, owning him. A special kind of tattoo where his skin is the blank canvas and my hand print the artistry. Like a field of red roses, my mark flourishes across his skin.
Over and over, I slap Ivan, sometimes harder, sometimes softer, but I don’t stop until his arse and back are covered with my hand prints, until my own palm is stinging with the contact.
He's mine. Every single piece of him.
“Fuck,” Anton mutters, his own voice laced with agony and lust.
I chance a look at him. Anton has his head bowed, his pencil flying furiously over the sketch pad. Knowing that he is producing a piece of art inspired by this moment is a huge aphrodisiac and I shift myself, rocking against Ivan’s bare thigh. Loving the feel of his taught muscle beneath my slickness. I move against him, the hard bud of my arousal exploding with sensation as I press against the back of his thigh. He groans as my fingers curl into his hair and yank backwards, exposing his neck and bobbing Adam’s apple. His mouth is parted on a groan as I lay flat against his back, pressing my breasts against his skin and sliding my tongue over the shell of his ear.
“Turn over,” I demand, my voice husky and filled with lust. I shift, lifting myself as he pushes up onto his elbows and moves beneath me. We lock eyes, his position not allowing him to cast his gaze down. I move upwards until I’m kneeling above his face, my pussy hovering above him.
“Pleasure me with your tongue,” I order, my breaths heavy and filled with lust.
A slow grin pulls up Ivan’s lips as he grips onto my arse and lifts his face to my parted folds, running his tongue along my slit. The sensation sends jolts of pleasure up and down my spine as my core twitches at the delicate feel of his tongue against my sensitive flesh. I buck against his face, my body spasming as he fucks me with his mouth.
Ivan is in his element, lapping and licking, drawing out what I know is going to be a mind-blowing, eye-rolling orgasm. I support the back of his head with my hand as he fucks me with his lips and tongue. His fingers tighten on my arse, as he licks and sucks, the firm softness of his tongue entering me then pulling away and teasing my clit with firm strokes. He doesn’t let up as my legs begin to shake and I pull away, not able to take the intense sensation. Instead he grips hold of me tighter and I don’t tell him to stop. I go with it, grinding against him as he devours my pussy with his beautiful, talented mouth.
“Fuck me,” Anton grinds out, watching this act of lust with greedy eyes.
The fact that he’s watching us makes me lose what little inhibitions I have left, and a scream leaves my lips as a powerful orgasm rips through me, shredding outwards from my core and tearing at my skin and muscle leaving me boneless. Ivan holds his face against my pussy, lapping at my juices, breathing me in as I shake against him.
It takes me a long time to come down, but when I do only one thought fills my head. I’m going to reward Ivan with the best fucking orgasm I can give him. He deserves that for everything I’ve put him through over the last few days.
Easing my hand out of Ivan’s hair, I let his head fall back onto the mattress, then scoot lower so that I’m hovering above his erection. I might just have come, but I’m more than ready to ride him. There’s a kind of desperate need to our coming together and the air hums with a different kind of tension filled with unspoken words and emotions that I’m not willing to acknowledge let alone talk about.
Grabbing his shaft at the base, I lower myself onto Ivan without warning. We both cry out at the flawlessness of our bodies fitting so perfectly together.
“I’ll go…” Anton mutters, rising from his se
at.
“No, stay.” I bite out, needing him here to witness this moment.
To catch me when I fall. I trust him to do that.
Because right now I’m on the edge of a cliff about to leap into the unknown and I need Anton so much more than he realises. Forcing my heart to calm I turn to Anton, whilst beneath me Ivan groans at the slickness and the warmth encasing his cock. His eyelids at half-mast, his cheeks coloured with dashes of pink.
“Get undressed,” I urge him.
“Rose… I…”
With Ivan panting beneath me, I turn my full attention back to Anton. “Take your clothes off, Anton, and get over here,” I demand.
For a moment I think he’s going to deny me. But instead, he places his pencil and pad on the floor then removes his clothes. I can’t help but smile at his obvious arousal.
“Close the curtains. Turn the light off and come to me.” I murmur.
He does, without hesitation this time.
And whilst I ride Ivan, moving up and down his length, Anton crawls onto the bed beside us both, his hands and lips feathering across my skin. I reach for him, my hand finding his cock in the pitch black. He feels heavenly as I fist his length moving up and down in a steady rhythm.
He’s so firm, so smooth, so fucking hot, and mine too. I know that now. I think he has been ever since we found each other in the pitch black.
Blanketed in darkness I can revel in the man beneath me and the man at my side. I can open up to the possibility of something more than a heart caged in pain.
Within the darkness I can breathe again.
I can be free.
Here, right now, just like in the room hidden behind Anton’s studio I let the darkness in finding peace within it’s comforting arms.
“Rose…” he bites out, his teeth grazing my shoulder as he chokes on an emotion neither of us want to acknowledge.
“Hush now, Anton. Be free with us, in this moment. Let everything else go.”
It's not a declaration of love, but a promise of home and acceptance. A promise that he’s safe to be who he is with us, by our side.