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With deliberate slowness, he propped one shoulder against the wall and then took another sip of coffee. Fuck it. His tongue was already scorched.
Malvia still wore that mocking little smile.
Benson arched a brow. “Did you want something? Or are you putting on a show.”
He gestured to her sheer dress with the mug.
The smile disappeared, and her eyes narrowed. “I came to talk about the game.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
“Oh, of course, how silly of me.” Malvia clasped her hands together under her chin. “No need to discuss things. Not at all. Not when Benson is there to just make declarative statements. No discussion needed.” She fluttered her lashes.
He narrowed his own eyes. “Watch the attitude.”
He hadn’t meant that to come out as a deep-voice command. Hadn’t meant for that to sound like the reprimand a Dom gave his submissive during a scene.
She should have lashed out at him. There was a time she would have. Malvia—the Malvia he knew—would bite the head off anyone who tried to tell her what to do.
But this Malvia didn’t snap at him. It broke something inside of him, to see her so submissive that the woman he’d first met and bonded with over something stupid was gone.
This Mal reacted to his Dom voice, the response not as extreme as it could have been. She didn’t drop her gaze or fall to her knees in some Pavlovian submissive response, but her reaction wasn’t what he’d expected.
Mal’s shoulders tensed, and she turned her head to the side. Her lips parted, her shaky exhale audible in the morning’s quiet. He had a good view of her profile as she looked at the courtyard, the dark wood furniture and lush plants in their heavy terra-cotta pots dappled with light.
That profile, backlit by filtered sunlight, brought up a visceral memory.
They lay in bed, Mal soft with sleep and needy in the aftermath of an intense scene. Benson lay on his side, head propped on his hand. His other arm was still under the covers, and he nudged her hip, rolling her from her side—where she was lying with her face buried against his chest—onto her back.
He tugged the covers down just enough to expose her breasts. The nipple rings—he’d traded out the bars for rings last night—glinted softly.
He hooked the tip of a pinky in one ring, tugging until she arched and whimpered softly. He released her, let her settle back against the mattress.
When he slid his hand down her body, he found her thighs obediently parted. When he cupped her sex, it was dry except for a fresh pool of arousal at the entrance. He spread her labia with index and ring finger, using his middle to press and roll her clit. He flicked it a few times, the gentle scrape of his dry finger on her dry clit intense enough to make her whimper.
He did it once more, felt her twitch, before taking pity and dipping his fingers down into her entrance, drawing the lubrication up. He watched her profile as he played with her, bringing her to orgasm within ten minutes. When he was done, he adjusted the pillow, making sure he had a good view of her profile and breasts. Then he settled his hand over her pussy, two fingers keeping her labia spread, his palm tight against her clit, and spent the next hour just enjoying her.
Fuck.
“I’ll resign my membership.” Benson chugged the rest of the coffee, feeling the heat hit his stomach.
“That’s not why I came to find you.” Her voice was low. Soft. Sexy.
Double fuck.
“Really?” That memory had him on edge. “What then? You’re here to tell me you’re so committed to being a service submissive that you’ll bottom for me?”
“And you’ll top me?” she shot back. “You’d be willing to hold your nose and lower your standards?”
Maybe the Mal he knew wasn’t fully gone. Her words were too close to what Faith had said yesterday, when she questioned how he’d phrased his initial refusal.
They were both right to question his phrasing, and the implication that the problem was her willingness to sub for him. Mal hadn’t been the one to end their partnership.
He’d walked away. He was the wronged party. She’d hurt him, not the other way around.
“This game is some kind of excuse for them to force pairs together in ways that should probably be war crimes.”
“Or it’s a way to resolve issues we’d never resolve on our own.”
