Page 63 of Forge the Blade

He fucked down into Lisa’s body until the man beneath him was limp and soft again, then he dragged Lisa up on his knees, his back against Sevastyan’s belly and ran his hands over Lisa’s body, finding his cock and stroking it again.

“Can’t,” Lisa gasped. “Only once, never more than once.”

“You will,” Sevastyan spat. “You will come for me, and you will call me master.”

Lisa shook his head, eyes closed, sweat rolling on his skin.

“I’m not going to use you just once, blade,” Sevastyan said into his ear. “You’re stronger than that. More useful than that. How many times have you killed for me?”

“Thrice,” Lisa gasped. “Thrice. Don’t make me come thrice. Please.”

Sevastyan mouthed the side of Lisa's throat. “I will train you, my wild blade. Today, only twice.”

He swayed, dancing with Lisa’s body against his, caressing his shaft, stroking the man’s balls, massaging his belly. Lisa’s cock stiffened. His body grew taut and heavy, his weight entirely in Sevastyan’s power. He pressed Lisa back down to the bed, held Lisa’s thighs together, and ground himself deep as the other man shuddered towards a second eruption in half an hour.

“Master,” Lisa sobbed. Sevastyan bit the back of Lisa’s neck, rolled his hips, his own release exploding deep into Lisa’s body.

He stayed there, holding their positions, keeping Lisa beneath him as the slave shuddered and cried through what was probably as painful as it was pleasurable.

“Good,” Sevastyan murmured against Lisa’s hair. “You flew twice for me.”

Lisa gasped back a wordless reply.

Sevastyan dragged himself from Lisa’s hole and spread his buttocks with his thumbs checking for any signs of blood or swelling. Other than a puffy, well-used gate, it appeared the oil and the slow approach had done their job.

Sevastyan stroked his hand over Lisa’s side in praise. “Stay.”

He needed towels. His wild blade deserved that much for bending and submitting to the taming.

“Master,” Lisa whispered.

“Yes?”

Lisa turned his head, his hand reaching out. Sevastyan grasped him back.

“Master,” Lisa repeated.

Sevastyan stretched out on the bed beside him, holding Lisa’s hand, their faces close together. “I’m here, Lisa.”

“I feel empty. Why do I feel empty?”

Sevastyan’s chest clenched. He moved closer, covering Lisa with his body, still holding his hand. “Do you want me back inside?”

Lisa nodded, tears trickling down his nose.

Sevastyan pressed his forehead against the back of Lisa’s neck. He reached between their bodies and sank two fingers into Lisa’s body. Lisa’s breath hitched once, then deepened, evening out, his shoulders loosening beneath Sevastyan’s chest.

Sevastyan closed his eyes, triumph and despair mixing together inside his chest. He knew the emptiness Lisa described. To receive required a hollowing out for some. When the hollow was filled with another, it was a delicious, painful pleasure.

But when the other withdrew, they were still whole. For the one who had been taken, the chasm remained. The vulnerability, the bending that had been given, the space that had been made, that remained.

“Hold this,” Sevastyan whispered. “Let the sick, the emptiness of it all, fill you up. Keep it in your belly and show it to me in your eyes when you kneel at my feet. That is your submission, your sacrifice.”

Lisa shuddered. “You’ve made me need you.”

Sevastyan pressed his lips against Lisa’s skin. “Yes.” He closed his eyes, feeling the burden of it all.

When the sweat was cool on both their skins, he rose, heated towels under hot water in the bathroom and returned, rubbing Lisa down. Then he held him until sleep took Lisa under. And then a little longer.