His head whips from side to side almost immediately, like the old fuck has yet to piece it together that he isn’t tucked up safe and sound in his bed.
When he sees the cuffs his Domme locked him up in, he groans. Like the power of suggestion is what made him remember his arms and legs have lost sensation.
Once he notices me, however, he grows still.
Fitting, I think, considering his family issoproud of slaughtering animals. Now he knows how it feels to be in a predator’s sights.
“It wasn’t a fever dream. This is your new reality.”
And so the outrage flows free: “You can’t do this to me, goddammit! I want some pain meds and?—”
“You did this to yourself, Mr. Harrington. I did nothing apart from walk in on a couple engaging in consensual sex acts. That you happened to pay me top dollar for.”
“Let me go! You have no right?—”
“I have every right. You claim to be a God-fearing citizen of the good ol’ U S of A, Mr. Harrington. What would the world think if theyknew?” I tsk.
His nostrils flare. I watch him fight his inclinations, then… “What do you want?”
“You roll over that fast? So scared that your friends will think you’re lacking because you like being pegged by a woman?” I laugh. “Luckilyfor you, I only want information. But it’s reciprocal. I’ll feed you some in turn.”
“What kind of information?” His face crumples. “I-I’ll think about it. Just give me some pain meds, please!”
“I watched your son last night at the Veronian pledging ceremony.”
His shoulders straighten, but he moans in pain as the nerve endings flicker and twitch back to life. “Oh, god, it was his first rite! What happened?”
“You lied to me.”
“I did no such thing!”
“You lied. Now, I want to know what else you lied about.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“Why did I have to find out what happens to the female pledges from hearing someone whisper and gossip at the rite?”
“What do they matter? They only ever get in on their backs,” Harrington mutters, his confusion evident.
“I consider an evasion to be a lie.”
“Women are selected to partner up with strong initiates,” he blusters. “They’ll typically buddy up and marry. It’s an approved partnership. Why would that even matter to someone like you?”
Every word he uttered hammers a nail in his coffin.
I get to my feet and stroll over to him. “Because one of those women belongs to me.”
“They’re one of your hookers?” Harrington’s frown puckers. “That makes no sense. Their pedigrees are tested.”
“Like they’re dogs,” I clarify.
“Breeding matters. Ties matter.”
“Who decides which women are selected?”
“Typically, the council.”
“You mentioned that last night. Ten of them, no?”
