by Watson, Rhea
I… I could give her nothing.
As a parting gift, I’d done what I realistically could: I gave them music.
But then the warm and fuzzy shriveled, replaced with a tight, bitter frost that made my chest ache.
While I had dabbled in relationships before, always to appease my parents, I had never felt the sting of heartache—and a part of me feared that was the feeling it was: ache. Longing. A yearning in my heart for her, to waltz with her on a whim, all eyes on us, all the impending gossip meaningless…
Not a detriment to either of our careers.
Pathetic, really. We knew so little about each other beyond our mutual interest in pain, yet here I was… aching.
Aching for what, exactly, still eluded me. It couldn’t just be her I craved. Perhaps I desired the freedom she and Bjorn shared, the closeness and the connection. Lonely was the head that wore the crown, not just heavy.
With a sharp exhale, I finished up with my hands, smearing the leftover moisturizer up my arms, then stilled at the rap of knuckles on my front door.
No. I was done for the night, locked in, dressed down, ready for bed.
But it wasn’t in my nature to ignore anyone under my charge, and as I left the bathroom and strode through the suite’s master bedroom, then out into the formal sitting room, I could only hope it wasn’t Iris on the other side here to gloat.
Because that was coming; tonight or tomorrow, my second-in-command would corner me and brag about what a brilliant Yule she had hosted.
And I hadn’t the stomach for it, not now, not with my heart still knotted in all that blasted yearning. Irritable and bogged down with tonight’s failure, I wrenched open the front door, nothing about my expression suggesting I was up for anything from my assistant headmistress—
Oh.
Alecto.
The little witch must have been pressed right up against the door to knock, because she was just there, a breath away from me in her lovely Yule gown, her eyes watery and bloodshot again. The whoosh of my dramatic opening had her stumbling back, startling her enough to drop her skirts and cower.
Surely Bjorn hadn’t caused the misery in her eyes. I couldn’t fathom him breaking her heart; he might have been a warrior a lifetime ago, but I valued the vampire today for his gentle, patient temperament that worked wonders on our students.
All things considered, that ought to extend to Alecto. Hell, I had witnessed it with my own two eyes, the care and tenderness with which he handled her.
“Hi,” she said in a small voice, all subdued and deliciously submissive. Bloody hell. It was like she did it without realizing, falling into the role I had lusted after for years, my needs never met, my wants unrequited. Clearing my throat, I peered around the landing, taking in the emptiness behind her and the dark silhouette around Iris’s doorframe.
“Are you all right?”
Obviously not—why else would she be here? The shake of her head confirmed it, and the lower lip wobble was just torture. Gods above, curse my soft spot for lost, pining pain addicts desperate for a cruel hand and a good cuddle after.
Be professional. Right. Explore the proper channels first. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Alecto shook her head again, as expected, and my cock twitched with interest. Already the Dom in me was raring to go, wide-awake after scenting blood in the water. No. Eager as I was to formally play with the epitome of my perfect submissive, this was too complicated.
Too dangerous.
Arms crossed, I leaned against the doorway with a sigh. “Alecto, I know we didn’t explicitly discuss this, but I thought it best to keep what happened before a onetime—”
“Is that what you really want?”
Her confidence threw me. Disheveled as she appeared after looking meticulous all night, like a winter goddess gracing us mere mortals with her presence, she sounded clear and firm now. Strong. No more quiet mewls, breathy croaks, anguished whispers. Without meeting my eye, Alecto challenged me directly.
Called me on my shit.
Bratty submissives could be such a chore. Unlike the good darlings who always did as they were told and never talked back, her kind knew precisely what their Doms desired above all else—and they weren’t afraid to bring it to light.
This was a fork in the road, the moment that could change everything. Had this happened months ago, I could have sent her away, but something about this year in particular had weakened me. So many failings. So many losses. So many blows to my ego, my pride, and my job.
It had all beaten me down enough to force an honest answer.
“No,” I admitted hoarsely. No, I didn’t want a brief spanking in my office to be the only time we tangled in kink together. “That’s not what I want.”
All my life, I had never gotten what I wanted. No matter the wealth, status, or prestige, Clemonte witches and warlocks did as family tradition dictated. Personal goals went out the window if they didn’t further our legacy—didn’t bring power to the lineage.
“Me neither,” Alecto whispered, brushing her fingers under her eyes, catching the tears before they fell. Fuck me. Only a heartless bastard would leave her out there like this, but if I beckoned her inside, it wasn’t a hot cup of tea and a good chat that either of us desired.
Hands fisted, I leaned forward and did a more thorough sweep of our surroundings. The darkest night of the year was also the most silent. No footsteps echoing through the stairwell, no voices carrying up to the eleventh floor.
With a shake of my head and a bristly sigh, I stepped aside and beckoned her in.
Weak. So bloody weak.
She made me weak.
And… I liked it. Just for tonight, I could admit to that.
Alecto padded in without a word, and I let her wander around the formal sitting room as I saw to the door. Instinct told me to lock it, but I left it open in case she suddenly decided to bolt. When I faced her again, I found her hands twined together behind her back, offering me her profile as she took in the space. Lovely, her outfit this evening, all silvery white and rich dark blues, a snow queen, a Yule treasure.
In another life, I’d rip that gown apart and fuck her on the shredded tulle.
For now, I let her revel in her surroundings, in the stark contrast they must have offered compared to the flat she shared with Bjorn. Like my office, the three-bedroom suite was a blend of traditional and modern with dark woods, hard angles, and updated furnishings. I had adopted a monochromatic color scheme throughout, black, white, and grey dominating the space. Not exactly the warmest place to bring a new submissive, but that wasn’t the point.
In fact, there wasn’t much of a point in having the largest flat on campus when I seldom used it. Sure, I slept each night in the bedroom’s California king and made use of the bathroom, but I never entertained—so this formal sitting room with the twin couches, armchairs, and hearth was a waste. I never relaxed, so there went the informal living room through the closed door to the right, and I spent all day and many long nights in my actual office, so the small, private study behind yet another closed door remained untouched and useless.
In fact, Alecto was the first person I’d had in here besides Iris in about two years. Once, at the request of some of the older professors, I had hosted a wine and cigar night to better know my faculty, but that was a distant memory.
As she took in the overtly masculine landscape, the rugged corners and the varnished floors that offered no comfort for submissive knees, I studied her. Alecto hadn’t said as much, but I knew precisely what she wanted—why she was here. She longed for what I had given last time: peace. A still mind and a quiet heart. She wished to feel better, to reset after something had clearly triggered her between waltzing with Bjorn and now.
“Alecto,” I said roughly, “look at me.”
Soundlessly, she turned in place, eyes on mine, open and vulnerable. Thank the gods she had found me and not a sadist with no morals: someone could really hurt her when she looked at them like
that.
“This is… not how I ordinarily do this,” I told her, searching for the right words as I motioned between us, cautious of her feelings, “with a submissive.”
Her eyebrows shot up, and gone was the open and vulnerable, replaced with an embarrassment that had her cheeks pink and her gaze downcast. Damn it. So much for caution.
“No, no…” I crossed over to her, fighting the instinct to pull her against me and tuck her under my chin. Instead, I threaded my hands together behind my back and stayed close. “I like to talk a great deal first. Everything done should always be consensual.” Slowly, shyly, she glanced back up at me, and my smile seemed to reassure her. “Every Dominant and submissive is an individual, all with different limits, preferences, wants, needs… Ordinarily, I would like to know everything about you before going into this.”
She gulped, the flicker in her throat telling. “I-I understand, but—”
“For the sake of helping you tonight, we can forgo that,” I insisted. As much as I’d like to peel back the layers and root around, really grasp what made her tick—what made her cry—that just wasn’t necessary to give her what she needed. “The safeword will remain as is… Rot. Say it.”
“Rot,” she parroted back to me, and I nodded, pleased.
“Good. If we are to… continue this, we will need to have another conversation. Something deeper and perhaps a bit uncomfortable.”
I allowed her a moment to consider it, and Alecto fussed with her hair in the silence. Mahogany curls tamed to long waves, she swept it all to one side and coiled it, then brushed it out and twisted that mane again. Finally, when her head bobbed, it was like I could draw a full breath again.
“I… I’d like that,” she told me softly. “Root Rot is stressful. Having a safe release with an experienced hand is actually really appealing.”
Gods, she knew just what to say, didn’t she? Blitzing by her confession that she desired me to be her Dom, I offered a thin smile and a hum of agreement. “Yes, the job demands a lot from—”
“It’s not the job. Not really,” she interjected with a wave of her hand. My jaw clenched; if she did intend to become my submissive, if I actually entertained the idea of making this underlying connection between us official, she would learn to never interrupt me in a scene. Tonight, I let it slide. With no rules discussed, it wasn’t fair to chastise her, not when she was finally opening up.
“Then what?”
She smoothed her hands down her feathery bodice, as if desperate to keep them busy. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
In a future conversation, we could discuss if this issue was a hard limit. If not, I could very easily—skillfully—whip it out of her.
But never mind.
“I can respect that.” Respect it, but certainly not forget it. If something or someone in this castle was continuously upsetting her, I intended to make it or them—probably a him—stop.
By force, if necessary.
No one made my submissive cry but me.
“You seem better than you were the last time we met under these circumstances.”
“I am.” Alecto sniffled, the twist of her lips halfhearted. “Different scenario—kind of.”
Right. On to the main event, then. “Would you like me to spank you again?”
She inhaled sharply at the offer, a beet-red blush skittering all the way down to her chest. Exquisite. My favorite color, that, especially when stripped raw across a submissive’s backside. I let her sputter and flounder for a moment, eyebrow quirked as she tried to talk exclusively with her flailing hands. It was important for a sub to communicate what they wanted, after all, but this little one had no idea what she wanted.
Ugh. Like catnip for a tiger, honestly.
“Would you like to try something different?” I offered once she had suffered enough. The question seemed to reset her brain, and Alecto shrugged one shoulder, immediately more composed.
“Uh, sure?”
Now we were getting somewhere. There was so much more to our world than spanking. “Did you enjoy the pain last time? Or the surrender to me?”
Alecto nibbled her lower lip, fidgeting with her fingers and looking deliciously serious as she considered both options. “Both… kind of? I don’t know.”
“Well, little sub…” Smirking, I caught her by the chin, pinching it, loving her startled flinch. I hadn’t called anyone anything in so long. Not slave. Not little one. Not filth. Not baby subby. Nothing. And never with anyone who wasn’t either a professional in this fantasy or a longtime player with multiple partners. My grip tightened at the thought, shifting to engulf her lower jaw and down to her neck, tipping her head up so that she had no choice but to look at me. When I had her gaze trapped in mine, I grinned wolfishly, letting a glimmer of the darkness inside out. “Maybe we’ll need to try a few things before we find your sweet spot…”
Her throat rippled beneath my palm, and she offered the tiniest of nods, seeming to melt at the thought.
So bad.
This—is so fucking bad.
Self-preservation demanded I retreat immediately.
Fear reminded me that my job was hanging by a precarious thread.
Logic insisted this would only end in catastrophe.
“Is that what you really want?” Her voice slithered around my skull in a confident whisper, and I surrendered to myself—to taking what I wanted, just this once.
“Right then.” The moment I withdrew my hand, she stumbled after me, as if she had trusted me enough to just let go. Promising. I ducked down to meet her eyeline as I murmured, “Wait here.” I then stalked toward the master bedroom, only to slow, a thought occurring: if we were going to do this, might as well do it right. “On your knees, Alecto.”
Over my shoulder, I caught her sinking down, complying in a heartbeat. Good girl. Without another word, I strode into the bedroom, then tucked my slowly hardening cock into the waistline of my loose black slacks. No need to make her think she had to do something with the horny bastard, after all.
With that out of the way, I turned on the lamps on both bedside tables, then dug out one of my plain white tees from the walk-in closet, carefully selecting the perfect cotton blend from the built-in shelves. A twin to the one I wore now, I held it out for inspection, not expecting to find a stain or a blemish but needing to confirm all the same. Nothing. Clean, scented like the pine-fresh dryer sheets housecleaning used for all my things. No folds or stiff lines. Soft. Much too big for her, but that was the point.
Giddiness crackled through my veins like a lightning storm as I arranged the shirt on the bed, but I concealed it before returning to her, my excitement hidden beneath a stony mask and a rigid posture. As expected, Alecto sat at attention upon my return, but nothing could fix that sloppy kneel. Sure, she looked beautiful surrounded by a pool of silver tulle—no denying that. I just preferred a submissive to kneel a certain way: shoulders back, spine straight, head down, and eyes on the ground. Knees together, hands flat on her thighs.
We can work on that another day, little one.
Bloody hell—was this actually happening? Was I already preparing for another session? Crafting an agenda? Making a plan? Conflict ripped through me, but not enough to quash the thrill of the moment, my free fall into this night—our night—well and truly underway.
“Alecto,” I said, soft but sharp. Subs had always enjoyed that about me: my ability to remain calm and composed as I tore them to pieces. I got off on it, too, of course, otherwise I wouldn’t waste my time with it. When she looked up, hands nervously fussing with her dress, I motioned to the door behind me. “In my room there is a T-shirt on the bed. I’d like you to change into that, leaving your undergarments on, shoes off. Do you understand?”
Cheeks hollow, she nodded.
“Right, off you go, then.” I stepped aside, creating a specific path for her to take from her spot on the floor to my door. She stood, navigating the volume of that dress gracefully, and then crossed t
he hardwood silently—like she was trying not to click around in her heels. Adorable. I threw down the toll gate just before she passed, stopping her with my arm and looking pointedly at the gown. “Do you need help getting out of that?”
She licked her lips, peeking over her shoulder briefly, then offered me her back. “Just the zipper.”
I found it at the top of the dark, feathery blue bodice, and I gripped the material firmly as I slid it open, making it a point to avoid skin-to-skin contact—for now. That was the game: leave them wanting. As soon as the bodice splayed open over her lower back, I shooed her off with a sharp throat clear.
Even though what I really wanted to do was peruse the indentations left on her skin from the bodice boning, the red lines as lovely on her bare flesh as I’d always imagined.
Another time.
With a squeak of thanks, Alecto shuffled into my bedroom—the first and only woman at Root Rot Academy to ever do so—and closed the door behind her. Only halfway, mind you, the bright white light still spilling into the formal sitting area, but I gritted my teeth all the same. Submissives couldn’t—and, frankly, shouldn’t—lock themselves away during a scene, and I would never have allowed it in the past. As soon as we began this dance, I was responsible for her.
Fortunately, there wasn’t anything she could hurt herself with in there. No toys or tools. Nothing salacious, either, all private and personal documentation locked in my office safe, the damn thing triple charmed and hexed to keep out intruders.
Next time, Alecto would start to learn the rules—and the consequences of breaking them.
If… she wanted a next time.
If I didn’t scare her away with what I had in mind for tonight.
Nothing quieted a frantic mind better than a bit of light caning.
In her absence, I ducked into my study and went straight for the aged traveling trunk under the window. While I spelled most of my things shut, this had a simple combination lock with a numerical code: the year of my youngest sister’s birth. After rolling that in, I popped it open and brushed my fingers along the tools inside.
