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It felt as if days passed while Marcus touched her. He took his time, letting her excitement and arousal build until she was sure the lightest feather touch would send her over the edge. Finally, he let her come.
She stole a glance at him as he licked her juices from his fingers. Then she collapsed in the cage, her breath still heavy and her heartbeat thudding against the pillows.
“My turn,” he said.
Saskia let out a pathetic whimper, not having the energy to move that far to the other end of the cage. Marcus came around to the other side nearest her. He unzipped his pants and thrust his already hardened cock through the bars closest to her.
Tentatively she reached for him, remembering how Quill had slapped her hand away and not wanting a repeat performance from Marcus.
“No,” he said. “Not your hand. I want that warm, wet mouth. I want you to suck me like I’m the last thing you’ll consume.”
Saskia scooted closer to him. “I-I don’t think he would... I’m not sure that’s allowed.”
“You’re not here to think,” he said. “You let me worry about him and what’s allowed.”
She took him into her mouth and began to gently suck.
Sun streameddown from the skylight above, making continued sleep impossible. Saskia stretched in the cage. Her arms reached out between the bars, fingers brushing against a thick piece of paper. She opened her eyes and rolled over to find a charcoal sketch of her sleeping. He’d signed it. A small ’J’, a giant ’Q’, and then a flourish that was supposed to be the rest of his name.
The woman reflected back to her looked blissed out in a post-orgasmic cat nap. Her body was loose and relaxed, extending the full length of the cage. The sheets had fallen away to reveal a bare hip as well as a breast.
Quill must have returned after she was asleep again and drawn her like this. It was the only work of his she’d ever seen where the subject’s eyes didn’t pull all the focus. But then her eyes were closed.
It was a snapshot of contentment inside a cage. It was how he saw her despite any outward protest she might seek to make. How easily he seemed to capture and transmit what he wanted to say. It wasn’t just a drawing. It spoke the truth as he saw it.
She couldn’t decide how she felt about the depiction. Everything about it seemed so incongruent, and yet there she was. She couldn’t deny what he’d seen clearly enough to sketch on paper.
It was more than a little disturbing that each time she woke in a cage seemed less upsetting than the time before. Was she becoming acclimated to this confinement? People fought and died for freedom and railed on endlessly about it, but in the end, didn’t most find a quiet cage to curl up in, accepting, almost craving some level of restriction? As long as it could be comfortable? Almost everyone preferred safety, no matter what lies passed through their lips. If they wanted freedom so badly, the way they reacted to their various forms of enslavement didn’t make any sense.
This sketch sure as hell didn’t.
But then, Saskia had just had an orgasm before drifting off, and Marcus had been with her. He’d stayed at least until she’d fallen asleep. Had he been there while Quill sketched her, or had he left the artist alone with his unconscious subject?
Precise footsteps clicked across the floor. Quill. Marcus’s stride was much different. Quill moved with a kind of smug entitlement that was hard to fake. She found herself both repulsed and pulled under by his demanding confidence.
“You’ve got thirty seconds to make a case for why I shouldn’t whip the hell out of you for what happened with Marcus last night.”
What happened with Marcus? She searched through the mental files in her brain trying to come up with what could have pissed him off so much. He’d obviously seen something from the video feed. Had he watched it before or after he’d sketched her? It had to have been after. There was an almost tender affection in that drawing. The man looming over her now didn’t seem capable of tenderness.
Marcus rushed into the gallery, exhausted from the night shift. “You know that’s not her fault.”
Quill spun on the guard. “No. It’s your fault. I said no fucking, and what did you do?”
“I didn’t fuck her!”
“So I just imagined your cock in her mouth? My mistake. It must be my advancing age. Things are so confusing now.”
“When you said fucking, it seemed clear to me you meant what normal people think fucking is!”
“I meant I didn’t want your cock inside any of her orifices. Perhaps I should have spelled that out better.”
“Perhaps you should have. I don’t see what difference it makes when you plan to whore her out anyway.”
Quill opened the cage and dragged Saskia out. She was still too disoriented to struggle or fight him.
“She was locked in a goddamned cage,” Marcus said. “How could she have stopped me? What powers did you give her to protect herself from her bodyguard?”
It was a good question. It was bewildering what he was even guarding her from. Maybe it made sense for Marcus to be there if she needed something, since Quill insisted on this cage business and couldn’t be bothered to keep her in his own room. But otherwise, it was doubtful someone would break in to steal her. She wasn’t a Monet.
