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Isat onthe chair by the bed again, watching Mitchell sleep soundly on the bed, all the fight and tension drained from him after another intense scene.
He’d loved it. I’d seen the shine and gratitude in his eyes before, but nothing like what I saw tonight. He’d clearly never felt anything like subspace or flying before he met me, and he was hooked, probably as in love with that feeling as he’d ever been in love with anything or anyone in his life.
He thought he was in love with me, though.
I recognizedthatlook too. The one that gobbled me up as the source of this new gift of sensation, pain and pleasure, and the ecstasy that floated a sub higher than he’d ever been before.
Mitchell had lookedstunningsporting that expression. I wished in some deep little pocket of my soul, the part that craved a relationship with my subs, that itwasabout me.
But I knew better.
He barely knew me—in fact the only things he knew about me involved who I was when we were in this room, or when we were talking about being in this room. He didn’t know the me that shat on a toilet like everyone else, or the me who watched terrible nighttime soaps and taped every episode I missed. And he had no idea about the me whose father was a stroke-victim-turned-homophobic-asshole, and whose mother was barely holding it together. He didn’t know the me that visited my sister with Down Syndrome at her boarding facility every single month.
He also didn’t know the me that had dropped out of college so my parents could afford that facility, or the dream I’d once had of being way more than an employee at a sex shop, an occasional phone sex worker, and a professional Dom. I still had the textbooks from the only semester of college I’d been able to attend before Betsy was sent away from home. I didn’t resent her for it. She was the best thing in my life. Loving, cheerful, a bright spot in a lot of darkness, but even she didn’t fully know me. She had no idea that her older brother was a sadist through and through.
Mitchellonlyknew that about me.
It was like I was two different Lukes sometimes. The one Betsy and my family knew, and the one that everyone else met—Dom, sex shop worker. The third Luke—the aspiring student—wasn’t known to anyone now. He’d barely been known to me.
And, likewise, I knew almost nothing about Mitchell except his most raw and carefully hidden parts. I didn’t know his major in college, his taste in music, if he spelled the tomato product as ketchup or catsup, or if he liked horror films more than rom-coms.
I knew what he looked like when he was asleep, though. He was beautiful. Probably just as beautiful as when he was strung up and almost hyperventilating from pain. Or as beautiful as when I hurt him so badly that his eyes lit up with fear. Only in sleep, his cheeks were pale instead of flushed, his lips were softly open instead of stretched around a gag or my cock, and his breath came in easy, flowing sighs that were quieter than the whimpers that escaped him as we played.
I wondered what he was dreaming about. I wondered why I cared.
Despite my yearning for a relationship with my sub—withMinty—I knew he was here for pain and bondage only. I was doing a job for him. A free job as a favor, one I felt unequipped for emotionally, but a job all the same.
And, God, the job had been rewarding tonight. The way Minty had flown was a sight to behold. The expression of rapture on his face when he came was unlike any I’d ever witnessed on another sub. It was angelic, and if someone informed me I’d been torturing a seraphim, I’d have believed them. Because he looked like wings might sprout from his back, and a halo might appear over his blond head. He was so gorgeous when he was flying that I had to be careful to rein myself in because it made me start to fly too.
And the noises he let out when I hurt him! Those were incredible. Maddening.
I couldn’t remember the last sub I’d had this kind of reaction to. Not even Benji, and I was with him for two years. He’d always gotten me off, satisfied me and let me play with his pain harder than any of my former subs, and I’d loved that. But the way that Minty just dove into the agony? The way he rode that terror I brought out in him? And how my inner sadist gloried in the gorgeous glisten of tears in his eyes? Unparalleled.
Tomorrow was Saturday, and we had all day to play and do aftercare before I had to leave for Knox Supplies & News. We hadn’t agreed on a new scene yet, and as I faced all these unknowns about him, my mind turned over an idea. I was tempted to ask him to strip naked for me and play a game of twenty questions where every answer was rewarded with a slap across the face or a belt to the ass.
But I shouldn’t get too curious about him. Not now. I didn’t have any idea how long he and I could last, but I didn’t want to count on anything beyond a few days in advance. He could decide to leave because it wasn’t enough. I could decide I didn’t have the skills to handle his emotional damage.
Or he could get sick and die.
Or I could.
We had to embrace right now, today, these moments, because we didn’t know how many more we’d have, and getting to know each other on any other level? What did that matter when what we were doing was so much bigger? So much stronger and epic. Full of cum, spit, pleasure, screams, and fear.
But as I drifted off, a thought crossed through my mind like a cloud over the moon, obscured, not entirely fully formed, but it was still there when I woke up to find him sleeping curled up on the floor at my feet.
You can’t let him die without knowing him.
Chapter Thirteen
‡
Minty
“Purple, Sir!” Isaid, breathlessly, bracing myself for the slap. It landed on the opposite side of my face and my head spun. My dick was hard, of course, and his was too, but he didn’t seem intent on moving past this game anytime soon.
“Your favorite candy.”
“Twizzlers, Sir!” This time he used the crop that he kept twitching against his jean-clad thigh. It landed on my upper arm, and I jumped.
