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There are lots of excuses they could use to deny Craig. The last thing he wants to do is let his guard down, trust this situation, and then have it taken away.
“You’re alright, Craig. My name is Commander Sam Flak. You’re mine now. Do you agree?”
Right to it, then. Of course. Get Craig’s buy-in, and make him acknowledge what he wants. Wasn’t it always going to be like this? Craig was never going to get out of this room without confessing his desires. And he has to say “yes” because what if it’s a genuine offer? That’s always his weakness: What if this time it’s real?
“Please don’t lie to me. If this—”
“I asked you a question. Answer me, sweetheart. Are you mine or not?”
He hauls in a breath, and tears fill his eyes. “Yes. Of course I agree,” he says, voice shaking. The Dominant (his Dominant? He can’t believe it yet) moves closer. Without looking, Craig can feel it.
“Good boy. Pretty thing. That was quite the outburst. You’ve hurt yourself and trashed the room,” the man says. “What were you thinking when you did that?”
“I don’t know,” Craig whispers, even though he does. He was thinking that it was all one goddamned lie after another. But if he doesn’t trust the military, then what’s he doing here? Why did he sign up in the first place? Haven’t they been good to him? Didn’t they make him better, spend money and resources on him, give him so much training, and yet he’s still ungrateful? Did he really expect to be given all that and not have there be a cost? Is he such a slut, so selfish and horny, that he’d put his desire to get fucked ahead of the good of the country?
Those aren’t his thoughts, he knows that they’re the words he was told over and over again, but now that he thinks them, he believes them.
“That’s not good enough. Try again.”
He sobs in his throat and tries to choke it back. “Please, no?”
The Dominant is directly behind him. Craig still can’t bear to look. That’s his line in the sand. The self-preservation he can keep. If he doesn’t see this Dominant, then it won’t hurt as much when it’s proved a lie.
“No? Sweetheart, you don’t seem like the type of man to tell a Dominant no.” Hands land on his shoulders, pressing gently. Grounding him. A connection. Strong and warm. Craig’s knees weaken at that simple touch, and he forces himself to stand properly.
The need to apologize and explain overwhelms him. The Dominant is right, he wouldn’t tell his Dominant no. Not ever.
“I’m sorry,” Craig says. “I got… confused. I just woke up and didn’t know where I was. I’ll do better.”
“You need to be mated, Craig.”
“I don’t know,” he says because he can’t figure out where the trap is. But that makes it sound as if he doesn’t want it. “I want whatever you’ll give me,” he corrects. His shoulders rise, and he tries to pull away from the touch—better Craig ends it than have it taken away.
“I need to release, Craig. You’re in need, too,” the Dominant says and squeezes Craig’s shoulders more firmly, making them stay connected. And that’s exactly what Craig needs, proof that it’s real. So much force and command that he has no choice but to accept this as fact.
“Don’t you need it, sweetheart?”
That’s not fair, Craig wants to say. As if anything in the world has ever been fair. His handlers would laugh so hard if they heard him say that.
He can’t say the words to agree. But he has to do something to show this Dominant just how willing he is. He needs to give the man something.
Craig shuffles his legs apart and bares his neck to show how willing he is. How much he does, in fact, need and want to be mated. It’s automatic and easy. He sighs in relief because even that is pleasant—offering himself up to be used.
It’s like stretching, some sort of easing inside, a settling in his mind and mood to offer his body. Right then, when he has to admit to himself that he wants it, do what he so badly wants to do in order to get his needs met, that little flash of possibility and potential where the answer might be “yes” is the closest he gets to a perfect moment.
He tries not to get his hopes up and struggles to keep the desperation from consuming him. If he doesn’t get it… will he be okay? He’s survived and reconciled himself so many times, can he do it again? But this time, it’s different. Closer. The hope is unfurling inside him even though he should know better.
“Good boy. You’re going to get fucked now, sweetheart.”
Craig squeezes his eyes shut but can feel the tears, anyway. He waits and tries to stay in a place of uncertainty. No expectation. It’s okay if it doesn’t happen. “Yes,” he whispers, unable to keep the word back. Overwhelm me, use me, take what you need from me, he thinks, a familiar refrain he’s thought so many times over the years.
But this time, he can feel the heat of the Dominant behind him, and the phrase “good boy” is echoing in his mind. It’s a promise.
Unless.
His handlers know better than to say that to him, even in jest. No “sweetheart,” no “good boy,” nothing that will push him over the edge from grief and into rage. But maybe this man doesn’t know how unpredictable it can make Craig. Maybe it isn’t in the file the Dominant was given.
Then there’s a belt unbuckling, a rustle, and the sound of a zipper lowering.
