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He smiles. “I plan on keeping them.”
Another flick of my nipple, and then he loops the weight through the ring. The pressure and pain is instantaneous, dragging on my breast, and I let out a harsh breath, my hips jerking despite myself.
“Well?” he says.
“Thank you, husband,” I sigh.
“Good girl,” he growls. “And the next…stay still.”
His hand goes to my other breast, kneading, squeezing, pinching and pulling. I let out a gasp and jerk against him, and he pinches my nipple until it hurts.
“I said stay still,” he says.
Control. That’s what he’s about.
I can make that happen for him.
I freeze, forcing my body to go rigid even though I want to writhe and thrash. Atlas smiles again, and my breath gets caught in my throat when he attaches the other weight. It hangs from my breasts, the metal heavy enough that the drag pulls deliciously at me.
I do not move.
I need him to trust me.
To what end? Not sure yet.
Atlas stands, and I lose sight of his gorgeous eyes once again. I train my gaze on his cock instead, which is jutting toward my face where I’m held captive. The weights are still pulling on me, making my body throb. I need him. Ineedhim.
He walks around behind me, cracking his knuckles. It’s the only sound beside my harsh breathing—and of course the soft chime of metal hanging from my breasts. I wonder what he’s going to do next, what else he has in that cabinet of curiosities.
“I found our other two encounters quite instructive,” Atlas says from somewhere to my right.
His fingers trail over my lower back as he comes into view again, steady steps taking him back toward the cabinet. Night has fallen, and the room is now cast only in a torch-like haze, the colorful tapestries painting it in dark jewel tones. Atlas reaches inside the cabinet again, and I watch as he stands and looks into its depths.
“I know you like pain,” he continues. “And I want to give my wife what she likes. But you should know I do not intend on hitting you—ever. Not for pleasure, and never,neverfor punishment.”
I bite my lip, trying not to think about what that means. It’s not my job to think about his feelings…even if he’s turning out to be a fucking decent guy, and I hate that.
“Yes, husband,” I murmur, not offering any resistance.
“But I purchased some experimental items,” he says. “I thought you might find them interesting.”
He walks back toward me with something that almost looks like a tentacle monster, or a medieval torture device, or maybe both. I shudder at the sight of it in his big hands, especially when I realize where it must go.
“This is from a human designer in Solis,” he says. “Someone in high demand from the Families. She helps our people get to know our wives.”
Is he talking so much so he can delay the inevitable, or does he really just want to give me a little anthropology lesson? Because I can’t say I really care; I just want him to touch me again, to use that thing on me however he likes. He moves around behind me, once again running his hand down my spine…and this time, he squeezes my ass before yanking his hand away like he’s been burned.
“What does it do?” I ask quietly.
He comes back around and kneels in front of me to show me the device again, and he genuinely looks intrigued as he guides me around the toy. It’s made out of three tendrils all in a row—the front one with what looks like suckers, the second what looks like a dildo, and the third a curved plug.
He doesn’t have to explain it.
I knowexactlywhere all of this goes.
“It’s designed to stimulate the primary erogenous zones,” he says, his tone clinical. “I’m going to use it on you…and when I do, you are going to thank me, as always.”
“Yes, husband,” I breathe.
