Requiem of the Soul: A Sovereign Sons Novel

by Zavarelli, A.

  Our heavy breaths are the only sound in the room when I yank the ruler from my drawer and slide it over the skin of her bare ass. She's craning her neck, trying to see what I'm doing, so I push her hair over her eyes.

  "You lost the privilege of sight," I snarl.

  The ruler cracks against her ass cheeks with a sound that echoes off the office walls, but it's soon drowned out by the force of her scream.

  "Santiago!"

  "That's for snooping where you don't belong."

  Crack. Another shriek pierces my ears.

  "That's for drinking when you know goddamn well I’m going to put a baby in you."

  Crack. A soft whimper bleeds from her lips this time, her tears dripping down onto the desk.

  "And that's for being a fucking Moreno."

  “Stop it!” She flails under the weight of my palm, twisting her torso enough to scrape her nails down my arm.

  I grunt at the sting of her endeavor on my scarred flesh. And that momentary weakness gives her the courage she needs to hurl her bare heel up into my shin.

  “Motherfuck!” The word hisses from between my teeth as I bring the ruler down against her ass once more. “You will submit to me.”

  “Never!” she bellows.

  I smack her again and again, the force of my efforts reverberating through my palm. Ivy fights me at every turn, trying desperately to exert her will. But she is no match for me in size or strength, and eventually, even the ruler cracks under the weight of my anger.

  Hot tears streak her pretty face when I toss the now useless instrument aside and stare down at her, chest heaving. I wanted her broken, but she isn’t. Even as she cries into the desk, refusing to meet my eyes, I can see her resolve to withstand me, no matter what may come. As if she could.

  It stokes the fire of my rage and a need for something from her I can’t even identify. I don’t know what it is I want as my palms skim over the red lines on her ass. They look so lovely against her flesh. In fact, I’d dare to say I’ve never created any art as beautiful as this. But she isn’t unconsciously arching into my touch anymore. She isn’t bowing under my weight, and she isn’t fighting either. She’s just… disconnected. Her empty gaze is focused on the wall, and she’s never looked so unrepentant. There’s a sudden, aching need in me to touch her softly. To coax her back to life. But that won’t do.

  “Beg for forgiveness,” I demand.

  She doesn’t respond. I squeeze a handful of her ass and repeat the order, the threat in my tone unmistakable. Again, there is no response from her. And I find that her silence irritates me more than anything else ever has, a revelation that only adds to my frustration with her.

  It appears I've been too soft on my wife, and she seems to be under the illusion she actually has a choice to ignore my demands. She’s lost sight of her purpose. The entire reason she's here. But after tonight, she will know it.

  When I hoist her up over my shoulder and carry her down the corridor and upstairs to her room, she doesn't protest. She thinks this is the end. That her punishment is over. I can hear it in the way she's calming her breath, staring longingly at the sanctuary of her bed. When I lower her onto the decorative rug instead, her muscles become rigid once again.

  I retrieve the things I need from the small dresser I keep in here. When I return with the ropes and kneel beside her, she resumes her favorite activity of trying to defy me. But she is no match, and soon, her body is bound from her wrists to her ankles. By the time I'm finished with her, she's wearing the blind mask and the collar and chain from her marking ceremony. I leave her there to silently pray for salvation while I retrieve my own cloak and mask.

  Ten minutes later, we are in the back of the Rolls with Marco behind the steering wheel. It doesn't take long to reach IVI's compound. I remove the bindings from Ivy’s wrists and feet and pull her from the car, a blanket draped around her as I force her forward. Tonight, there are a few men gathered in the courtyard drinking, but they know not to look too long when they see where I'm heading.

  Our identities are obscured by the masks, and when I enter the dimly lit corridor that leads to the Cat House, we will appear just like everyone else.

  A guard opens the heavy door, standing aside as we enter the den. Ivy slows in hesitation as the sound of the world around her begins to flood her senses. Whips. Chains. Grunts. Feminine moans and soft, dark music fill the space.

  "Santiago?" She turns her body into me, clutching at me as if I could still be her salvation. The very man who leads her to her destruction. The man she should be running from.

  I can’t fathom her thoughts, but it feels like a trick. Ignoring her pleas, I drag her deeper into the fray, even as she clings to my cloak. We pass by the scenes of sexual depravity at its finest. The masculine grunts of a dominant sharing his sub with another member are the sounds that produce goose bumps on Ivy's skin. When she comes to a complete standstill, my frustration wins out.

  Tearing the blanket off her and discarding it, I force her onto her hands and knees, gripping the chain attached to her collar in my hand. The only identifying mark on her naked body is my tattoo, but it is obscured by her hair right now.

  I can feel the eyes of others on her, but right now, my need to exert my dominance is winning out above all others.

  "Crawl," I bark.

  She shakes as she begins to crawl forward, struggling to hold the weight of her mask up. More than once, she has to pause to lower her head, but she never gives up. She never admits defeat. And perhaps that stubborn will is what draws me in so much. My wife wants to believe she’s a fighter. Determined to handle any punishment I throw her way. But she hasn't seen the worst of me. Not yet.

  When we reach an empty station, she collapses into my arms as I hoist her up onto the wooden bench, forcing her torso up over the center cushion. I make quick work of the restraints, using them to secure her in place. She's on her hands and knees, legs spread wide, arms splayed out on the wooden slats in front of her. In this position, she's forced to hold up her head, and already she is struggling.

  "Hello, Sir," a feminine voice whispers from behind me. "I see you already have a playmate this evening. But would you like another?"

  My eyes are on Ivy as she cranes her neck in my direction. Maybe it's my imagination, but her muscles seem more rigid than they did only a moment ago. She’s frozen, listening carefully for my response.

  A cruel smile crosses my face. I haven't even turned to examine the courtesan employed by IVI to work in this den. They are here for our pleasure, and she is only doing her job. But Ivy doesn't know that.

  "What do you have to offer?" I ask.

  The woman comes around me slowly, kneeling before me as she bows her head. "Whatever your pleasure, Dominus et Deuce."

  I glance at her naked form briefly. IVI has high standards for the women in their employ. They must be intoxicating. Beautiful. The loveliest sight a man has ever seen. I would be lying if I said I hadn't visited this place before and partaken in several of these women. But right now, the sight of her kneeling before me gives me no great pleasure.

  I only have eyes for my wife, I find, as they drift back to her. She doesn't know it. She’s still waiting anxiously for my response.

  "Perhaps you can teach my playmate a lesson," I tell the woman. "Can you show her how to please a man? It seems that art is lost on her."

  A wicked smile curves across the woman's face as she nods. "It would be my honor."

  Ivy yanks against her restraints, the ropes chafing at her wrists.

  "No." The word is a mere whisper, but it is exactly what I need from her.

  She is jealous. She doesn't want to share her monster after all. That makes two occasions now I have witnessed this little beast inside her. First, when she uncovered Mercedes’s affectionate nickname for me. And now, the notion that I might actually take another.

  The woman before me rises slowly, reaching up for the tie of my cloak. I still her hand and shake my head, leaning in to wh
isper my instructions in her ear. She listens carefully and then nods, making a quick retreat.

  A few silent minutes pass where I watch Ivy's trembling form. She whispers my name once, and I have to stifle the groan of pleasure her desperation produces in me. It isn't logical for her to want to possess me the way I possess her. She should know how dangerous this desire is for her. And still, I find myself questioning it. Is she trying to toy with me, even now? Playing into this fantasy that she could ever truly want me?

  "Please don't do this," she begs. "You vowed to be faithful to me. It was the one vow you made.”

  Her head is sagging. Body quivering. And she's never looked so beautiful. I need to touch her more than I've ever needed anything. But first, I have to see how far she will go with this lie.

  The woman returns as I instructed with another member in tow. He too is in a cloak and mask. He nods at me and drapes the cloak over his shoulders, unzipping his trousers as he helps the woman to her knees before him. Within moments, the sloppy sound of her sucking his dick fills the space between Ivy and me. Silent tears drip down her face under the mask, splashing onto the floor beneath her. I'm close enough to study her in a way that I never have. To watch her muscles straining, her chest heaving as she fights to hold herself upright. Even as she's being humiliated, she continues to fight, refusing to allow her body to give out.

  The other member pulls the woman's mouth from his dick and pets her face. They are both silent as he clutches her hand and leads her to the small table near Ivy. He hoists her ass up on top of it and grabs her hips, sliding her toward him until she's exactly where he wants her.

  A feminine moan splits the silence as he thrusts into her, skin slapping against skin. Ivy renews her fight, struggling against her restraints, chafing her wrists and ankles as she desperately tries to free herself. I keep thinking at any moment, the illusion will be shattered. She will end the charade and stop acting as if she cares who I take. But it doesn't happen. It never happens.

  The sound of her mournful sobs splinter my ears as I circle around her, and it is only when my hands fall upon her back that she freezes.

  "Who's there?" she murmurs.

  "Who else would it be?" I lean over her body and whisper into her ear.

  She sucks in a breath, tilting her head in confusion as she listens to the sounds of the man fucking the other woman not five feet away. I nip at her ear and groan as my palms slide around to her breasts, pinching her nipples between my fingers.

  "How does that jealousy taste?" I tease the shell of her ear with my teeth. “I want to hear you say it.”

  "No,” she whimpers.

  “Does it make you angry?” My fingers move to the apex of her thighs, toying with her as she struggles to contain her emotions.

  “I don’t care what you do.” Her head dips, and slowly, she forces it back up, straining against the weight.

  “Liar.”

  She sucks in a sharp breath as the couple’s fucking grows more frantic. She’s squirming against me as much as her body will allow now, arching her back as I slap at her clit. When she hisses, I do it again, and then follow up with some undeserved tenderness, stroking and teasing her to the brink of her sanity.

  “Nobody else will ever have you.” I drag my teeth down the length of her spine and splay her pussy apart as I kneel behind her. “You’ll always belong to me.”

  “And what about you?” she demands. “Who will you belong to?”

  “That sounds like an admission of jealousy.” I dip my face between her thighs, the first lash of my tongue startling her.

  A strangled sound gets caught in her throat when I do it again. I want to feast on her. I want to fuck her all night until she can no longer walk without feeling me. But to do so would be weak. It would prove she has some sort of hold on me, and that can never be true.

  I lick at her again, and she whines, trying to arch back into me as I pull away.

  “This isn’t for you. Only good wives get to come. And you haven’t yet begged for forgiveness.”

  She groans in protest as I rise back up and unzip my trousers.

  "Please," she begs. "Just take off the mask. It's so heavy. I can't—"

  "I'll take it off when I feel you've learned your lesson."

  I free my cock and rub the head against her sensitive bud. A shiver moves over her body, even as she’s crumpling under the burden of her mask. I suspect she will come undone for me within moments, despite my declarations that she isn’t allowed.

  In one swift movement, I thrust into her, groaning once I'm seated fully inside. Ivy forces a startled sound from her lips and then moans when I break my own rules and reach down to tease her as my hips begin to move. I roll into her as the other man's thrusts begin to grow frenzied. The woman is moaning out her release when he slams into her and comes violently. It only reinforces my own need.

  "Are you ready to ask for forgiveness?" I thrust against Ivy, making her shudder.

  "No!" she shouts back. "I hate you."

  "You hate me?" I laugh darkly. "Let's see if that holds true."

  I start to move my fingers against her with a frantic pace as I thrust into her over and over again. From the corner of my eye, I can see the other member and the courtesan watching us with interest. Ivy is clinging to her resolve not to break, but her body is no longer under the control of her mind.

  Her head sinks lower and lower as her muscles tighten and contract, only to release in a powerful orgasm that squeezes my cock so forcefully, it pushes me over the edge too. For endless seconds, my release seems to empty inside her as I dig into her hips, undoubtedly leaving finger marks behind. My eyes fall shut, and it takes a minute to catch my breath as I wonder what the hell just happened. I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life.

  When I open them again, something about Ivy's head looks odd. Her hair is hanging so low the tips are skimming the floor now, and her neck is bent at a strange angle. When I pull out of her and release her hip, her entire body falls slack against the one cushion holding her up.

  Panic blurs the edges of my vision as I rush to help her.

  "Is she okay?" the courtesan asks.

  "Untie her ankles," I order as I reach for her head. It's heavy in my hands, and I know it's the mask. I remove it with uncoordinated fingers, shielding her face against my body as I work on her hands next.

  The woman manages to free her ankles, and I dismiss them both, telling them to leave us as I scoop my wife's limp body into my arms.

  "Ivy." My voice has an edge of desperation I don't seem to recognize as I carry her to a padded bench and drape her over it. "Ivy, please."

  After a few moments, she begins to stir, blinking slowly as she comes back around.

  "Ivy." I squeeze her hands in mine as I lean over her, trying to examine her eyes. "Tell me what's wrong."

  It takes her longer than I'd hoped to speak. She licks her lips and glances up at me in confusion. "I must have fainted."

  She closes her eyes again, and a stray tear rolls down her cheek. Another swiftly follows, and whatever liquor was running through my veins when I decided to bring her here has quickly evaporated. I've never felt as sober as I do when I survey the damage done to my wife. She is pale and weak, barely able to move or speak. Her hair is a tangled mess, cheeks stained with tears, and her wrists and ankles are red from the chafing of the ropes. She looks a miserable sight, and it hits me unexpectedly. I am the one who did this.

  "Ivy."

  "Take me home." She turns away, refusing to look at me.

  I feel out of sorts as I untie my cloak and drape it over her body, securing her in a cocoon as I cradle her against my chest. She doesn't protest when I carry her into the courtyard and back to the waiting car, but she still won't look at me either.

  As soon as I place her in the back seat, she slides as far away as she can get, turning away from me as silent sobs begin to wrack her body.

  It bothers me more than I ever could have anticipated to
see her this way. I wanted her tears but not her complete destruction. Or didn’t I?

  "Tell me what happened," I plead.

  She barely turns to me, her jaw set, anger vibrating off her.

  "What happened?" she asks incredulously. "Are you serious? You are what happened, Santiago! You pushed me past the point of what my body could handle with that display and then the mask. You knew exactly what you were doing. Don't act like you don't."

  It occurs to me then that she's talking about her vestibular issues. And of course, in the back of my mind, I assumed there would be some limitations to what she could handle. But I didn't realize the severity until I saw it firsthand.

  I wasn't thinking straight. But I should have been.

  Dr. Chambers sent me her medical records as I requested. Not just his notes, but her entire file from all her previous visits to doctors within The Society. I read about her problems with balance and coordination. The vertigo. The stress-induced flares. Her father had taken her to the doctor, but he had done little else to help her after her diagnosis. There were things that could have been done. Things that should have been done. And now I am left to wonder why didn't they do them? Why didn't he hire the best physical therapist that money could buy to help her? Why didn't he seem to care enough about his daughter to make that minimal effort for the benefit of her health?

  "Ivy." I reach for her hand, and she shoves me away.

  "Don't," she warns. "I don't want to hurt you, but if you touch me right now, I will fight. I will scratch and claw until I draw blood if only to prove you are human."

  Her words sting more than they should. It isn't like me to take demands from anyone, let alone my enemy. But right now, in the dim light of the car, she looks less like my enemy and more like my prisoner. I recognize that solemn expression well because I have seen it many times in my own reflection. I thought this was what I wanted, but now that I have witnessed it in her, I understand I couldn’t have been more wrong.