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He pulls his hand away, much to my disappointment, but then circles around in front of me. I can’t see his face; the way I’m bent forward and suspended, I can’t quite crane my neck high enough to catch sight of him. All I can see is the tent in his slacks where he’s clearly hard, the shimmering silver skin of his lower abdomen…and so close I could lick it. And I want to. Fuck, I really,reallywant to. I want to worship this man with my mouth, suck him off like a god deserves.
But I wait for his orders instead, because he’s in charge here.
For now, at least.
I see his big hand lift, then it goes out of reach. I suck in a breath when I feel his fingers in my hair, taking a handful of platinum strands and pulling hard. I hear someone gasp, and at first I think it’s me—but I soon realize it’s him.
Even this little bit of foreplay is arousing, his cock straining against his pants.
I remind myself that he hasn’t been touched in over a decade.
“How can I make you feel good?” I ask, my mouth dry as sandpaper. “What do you want from me?”
He lets out a heavy breath, then turns away, releasing me—taking a break. This is going to be harder than I thought; for some reason, I assumed he would give in almost right away once he’d chosen to do this, but he seems to be nervous.
He keeps surprising me…and he keeps making it harder to imagine assassinating him.
“Do you like to be called a good girl, wife?” he asks, his voice low as he moves to the cabinet on the wall. I watch him with my limited field of view, though I can make him out clearly now. I’ve never actually seen him shirtless until we went for our swim, and I’m able to get a better look in this moment. He’s covered in those iridescent scales, his muscles hulking—as I knew they would be.
But what surprises me is the scars.
Long, thick bands of scar tissue crisscross his back—clear signs of being lashed until he bled. I want to ask about it, but I keep my mouth sealed shut, knowing this isn’t the time. He’s already vulnerable.
And I don’t want to feel any more for him than I already do.
Right?
“I like to be good,” I rasp out. “But you can call me whatever you like.”
“You like to be praised when you behave,” he observes. He opens his cabinet, and fiddles with something inside. I don’t know what he’s messing with, but I’m looking forward to finding out. “I can do that.”
“Do you have something you want to be called?” I ask. Every other time I’ve done this, it’s been with a human, and there have been rules on both sides, agreements established ahead of time. This is far from orthodox, especially when I have no idea if the Aelyds even have BDSM. “I want to make you happy.”
“Husband,” he says. “It’s the most honored title I possess.”
Something flares in me at those words, my whole body aching for him to touch me. He’s taking his sweet time at the cabinet, and I have to wonder if he’s doing it to tease me or to calm his own nerves. Maybe a little bit of both.
“Husband,” I say. “How can I please you?”
Atlas finally turns around, holding something delicate in one big hand. I can hear it jingle softly—small and metal, from the sound of it. Then he comes closer, kneeling in front of me to meet my gaze.
His eyes are flashing so many colors it almost makes me dizzy—but I just stay in the same position, bent over and exposed for his pleasure.
“I had these delivered here when I discovered where you liked to be touched,” he says. “I’m going to put them on now…and you will thank me when I’m done.”
He opens his hand, and I see two decorative weights in his silver palm, set with jewels and gold chains. The jewels are the same color as his eyes—impossible to determine, flashing in the twilight filtering in through the skylight.
“Yes, husband,” I sigh. “Please.”
He smiles, and then he reaches for me with reverence. When he takes my right breast in his hand, I feel my pussy clench, wetness already coating my folds. Atlas reacts too, rolling my nipple experimentally between his thumb and forefinger.
“Touching you is like…” he swallows hard and trails off, licking his lips. “I can’t explain it.”
“You’ve barely even touched me.”
“And I’m already addicted,” he says. “What if I just kept you here as my pretty pet, wife? I could feed you by hand, pleasure you until you could barely stand…and then start all over again.”
I meet his gaze. “Promises, promises…”
