Wilt

by Rae, Nikki

  “Not hungry?” he asked, snapping me back to the present.

  We sat in the dining room eating dinner and I could only manage to take two bites of my chicken, head so full that unease flooded my stomach and didn’t allow space for anything else.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I said, pushing the plate aside. “I’m just sore and tired.” It wasn’t a lie. My ribs and collarbone were still healing and trying to go about my day as if I was fine was exhausting.

  He had finished, smoking a cigarette and ashing it in a crystal bowl. He had been doing that a lot more lately, sneaking outside or lighting up after meals. Before this week, I’d only seen him smoke the night I woke in his hotel room. His words made sense to me now: “Do you mind if I smoke. I don’t smoke much anymore, but after today, I think I need one.”

  My Owner only indulged in this habit when he was severely stressed, when he felt powerless and out of control. The frequency had steadily increased, and it told me one thing loud and clear: something was about to happen.

  “Are you sure?” He raised an eyebrow. I hadn’t eaten much of breakfast or lunch either. “We don’t want to starve you.”

  “I’m sure, sir,” I answered. “I’m just not hungry.”

  He stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette and blew the last of the smoke in his lungs into the air as he stood. Feeling my forehead with the back of his hand, he asked, “You don’t feel sick?”

  Of course I did; every waking moment. But no amount of medicine was going to make me feel better. “No, sir.” I stared up at him as he studied my face. “I’m just achy and want to go to sleep.” I said. “If you’ll allow me,” I added hastily.

  He scanned me a second more before he pulled out my chair for me and helped me stand. I could have probably walked on my own, but the longer I was awake and without painkillers, the weaker I became. Though I was grateful that I wasn’t dependent on them anymore, I still looked forward to the one dose I was still given if needed at bedtime. I didn’t care at the end of the day if I was weak for taking what was offered to me. The longer I was weak, the more time I had left—that was what I told myself. In reality, I had no idea if my physical state even mattered in an illegal transaction within the Order.

  “I know something that might help,” he said as he guided me out of the dining room, down the hall, and upstairs. He kept a hand on the small of my back the entire time, mindful of walking slow enough for me.

  We went into his room, passing mine without a pause, then he led me to his en-suite. He left my side, making sure I was stable as he turned on the water in the large copper tub. He added soap into the stream and the scent of lavender filled the room. Up to this point, I’d only had sponge baths with him or Marius washing my hair in a basin. I longed for the warmth and bubbles, the very steam that rose from its surface. Once the bath was halfway filled, he stood and came back to where I was near the sink. Without asking, he began to undress me, helping me out of my jeans and plush sweater. He did this often too; saying it would help me get used to it. I always willed myself to stay in the moment, to not imagine other, much crueler hands doing the same thing, but I couldn’t help where my mind wandered when I was this exhausted. He’d torn down every wall I’d built to protect myself and I had to rebuild them all.

  When he was finished and I stood naked before him, he cupped the side of my face and made me look at him; I hadn’t realized until then that I’d been staring at the marble beneath my feet. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze was reassuring. His hand found the small of my bare back and urged me towards the bath.

  Steadying me as I stepped into the hot water, I adjusted to the temperature, lowering myself with his hands on either side of me in case I needed them. Once I was sitting comfortably, arms around my legs, he took a step away. When I looked up at him, his eyes were on me.

  “I’m going to join you.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t expect an invitation or approval. “I want you to watch me undress, Doe.”

  A slight smile toyed at his lips when he saw my discomfort, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

  “Have you ever seen a naked man before?” He sounded genuinely curious, but there was no possible way he couldn’t have figured out the answer himself.

  “No, sir.” My voice was flat, unemotional. If I was detached, it was as if these things weren’t happening.

  He nodded, eyes trained on mine as he slowly unbuttoned his burgundy shirt. “Remember,” he said as soon as he sensed I was about to look away. “Eyes on me, Doe.”

  Under the water, my fingers tightened around my knees. “Yes, sir.”

  “If you do well,” he said as he neared the end of the shirt, bare chest peeking through, “I’ll give you something special.”

  I stared up at him in disbelief. He didn’t bargain often. He didn’t promise rewards or prizes. This had to mean more to him than he wanted me to realize.

  He laughed softly as the fabric hit the floor, displaying all the marks on his sculpted torso. “Don’t look so surprised.”

  I didn’t have a response, so I kept my mouth shut and watched as he came closer to the edge of the tub so he could sit down and untie his boots.

  My pulse pounded in my temples as he stood again, his fingers nearing his belt buckle. He watched me the entire time he undid his pants and I wasn’t prepared for the fact that he wore nothing underneath.

  He paused just as I caught a glimpse of the fine dark hair below his abdomen. “Look at my face, Doe.”

  He didn’t need to repeat himself and my eyes traveled up to his. He was smiling and I knew why: He’d never told me to watch him reveal himself, only to keep my eyes on him.

  “You have to pay close attention to commands,” he said, and I could tell he was finally stepping out of his pants. “Even when you feel as if you have no control, you can find some in small places.”

  Everything he had done so far was much like this; he always gave me a choice, a chance at holding onto some semblance of myself. I’d just been too focused on escape to notice until now. He’d been trying to prepare me all along.

  Master Lyon stepped into the bath in front of me and I kept my attention on his deep brown eyes. Soon, he was submerged as well. “You’re quiet tonight,” he finally said, mimicking my posture, albeit more relaxed than I was.

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Tired of me?” he asked. “Already run out of things to talk about?” He was joking. It took everything in me to return the gesture.

  I forced a smile onto my lips. “What can I say?” I consciously moved my arms away from my legs and leaned back, letting the heat work the tension from my spine. “I guess we’ve become one of those boring couples.”

  He smiled at my attempt as he let down his hair. “Come here, Doe. Sit beside me.”

  I used my good arm to help me scoot the short distance. When I was directly in front of him, I found the water a little deeper, and there was an actual seat built into the bottom. Slipping into the divot that formed to my back, he reached behind me and some sort of motor started. A second later, tiny bubbles played on my skin.

  “That should help the soreness,” he explained, turning the same dial so the jet stream was more intense. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good.” I felt his hand move from the dial, but his arm remained behind me and his fingers found their way to the back of my head.

  We were quiet a while, listening to the sound of the water as he massaged my scalp as if he could extract any unsettling thought that way.

  “You’ve been doing well, Doe,” he said softly, leaning my head back so it rested on his bare shoulder. I stared down at his chest, the scar tissue, the raised white lines around his collar and trailing down his stomach until it disappeared under the water.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  His free hand ran down the length of my neck and paused at my arm. “Would you like to…” Again, it wasn’t often that he was at a loss for words, but he searched.
“Would you like to call me Elliot for tonight?”

  So this was my special prize. Be a good slave and be treated like a human.

  “Why?” I asked, deliberately leaving out the “sir” to see how he’d react.

  He splashed some water gently over my shoulder, rubbing along the muscles just enough to ease the tension. “I don’t want to confuse you,” he said. “It would only be for tonight.”

  But I was confused. He had told me less than a few weeks ago that we could not be equals any longer, and calling him by name—him calling me by my real name—made us so. It was as if he wanted to torture me by dangling all I would never have again right in my face.

  At my hesitation, his eyebrows knitted together. “Don’t you like calling me Elliot?”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  He chuckled. “Sometimes?” His warm fingers worked the back of my neck, relaxing the muscles that had once again become rigid. “When is sometimes?”

  I shrugged again.

  “You need to tell me things, Doe,” he said. “Who else can better understand what’s going on inside you than the man who Owns you?”

  Months ago, the phrasing would have bothered me much more than it did now. To him, Ownership didn’t mean defiling or degrading. It meant protection, mentorship, and care. I was coming to realize that more with each passing day we spent together.

  “I…feel safe,” I said.

  “When you call me Elliot?”

  I swallowed. “No.”

  His hand stilled, the washcloth dripping water into the tub. “I see.” Slowly, re resumed. “And when you refer to me as Elliot, how do you feel then?”

  I thought for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to describe it. “I still feel safe,” I said, “but…it’s also…unknown to me. I know who we both are, what I’m supposed to do when I call you ‘sir’ or ‘Master Lyon’.”

  He placed my hand on his shoulder so my arm was more or less encircling him so he could carefully wash my ribs. “Go on,” he murmured.

  I felt more hidden like this, and perhaps he had known that. “I just…I don’t like the idea of being forced to call someone else by the same title or level or respect.” I chose my words carefully; it was an unspoken rule that we didn’t talk about my transfer.

  My Owner paused a long time before he spoke. “Many people have called me ‘sir’ and ‘Master Lyon’, ma petit,” he whispered. “Not many even know my real name.”

  It was then I began to understand. He’d lived here alone except for Mr. B; His wife had probably been one of those privileged few, and it hurt to know that this was a gift he’d given both of us, not something special just for me. But it also made me realize something else: Since I’d arrived, nearly everyone called him by title. Before he’d allowed me to call him Elliot for the first time, how long had it been since he’d heard it out loud? He rarely got to be his true self—maybe even less than I did.

  “You’re…” I found my fingers trailing his blacked out arm and discovered the tattoos’ purpose: There were tiny raised marks there as well and the ink made it so I could only see them if the light hit his skin at just the right angle. “You’re not a bad person.” I choked on the words, not completely sure whether I meant them, only that I had to believe them.

  He was silent again, setting the washcloth aside and turning off the jets. Without ceremony, he stood, wrapping a towel around his waist before I could glimpse more than the faint outline of his upper thighs. Then he held out a hand to me and helped me into a towel as well. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  He only turned on the bedside lamp in the bedroom, sitting me on the edge of the comforter before going into the closet for some of the clothing that belonged to me he kept there.

  “It’s up to you,” he finally said as he sat beside me. “Tonight, I want you to choose what to call me.”

  I watched his fingers squeeze the thick cotton robe he’d brought back before he set it down on the opposite side, farthest away from me.

  “Elliot,” I said. “I like your name. I like to call you by it.” It was so truthful it made my chest feel tight to say it.

  He nodded once. “And would you like me to call you Fawn?” he asked. “Just for tonight?”

  “No,” I said without hesitation.

  He folded his arms across his chest, confusion painting his brow. “No?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “I…I want to remember being called Doe. Belonging to you,” I whispered, staring into my lap.

  He kissed my forehead. “All right, Doe,” he whispered back, body so close to mine I could feel the heat and smell the lavender clinging to his bare chest.

  “Thank you, Elliot.” I was bold enough in the dim light to kiss his cheek, feel the coarse hair around his chin contrasting with the smoothness against my lips.

  When he pulled back slightly, a subtle change was reflected in his eyes. Was this the man I’d lived with all this time? Was it the one from the night in the greenhouse, or someone completely different?

  “Do you think you can lie on your stomach?” he asked.

  The alarm must have shown on my face, because he laughed. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “I have something special for you. Remember?”

  Images of him tying me to the bed and beating me for some transgression I didn’t know I’d committed flashed through my mind, but I told myself that something like that wasn’t about to happen. Elliot always meant what he said; if he’d wanted to hurt me, he would have already made it known.

  “I think so. If you help me.”

  Placing one of my arms around his shoulder, he turned me onto my side, letting me take things at my own pace. My shoulder burned and my ribs protested, but he put pillows where my arms rested so it was more bearable. He made sure my head and neck were supported before he removed my towel.

  My nerves went on high alert and I thought perhaps I had been right about the beating. I couldn’t help a small whimper from escaping as the air cooled my damp body and goose bumps broke out across my skin.

  “Shh,” he said into my ear, leaning over me so I could feel his bare chest against my back. “You’re safe with me, Doe.”

  He knelt beside me and I heard his towel drop to the floor. My pulse picked up. “Did you know some Owners tattoo their girls as a permanent mark of Ownership?”

  My eyes shot open and I could only partially see him, but he was smiling, toying with me.

  “Of course,” he went on, “as much as I’d like to, I can’t do that.” He didn’t need to say why. We both knew it was because I wouldn’t belong to him—not completely—forever. “But…” I felt his fingers trail slowly down my spine, “your skin practically begs to be marked.”

  I tried to sink into the feel of his fingertips as they danced along my skin. His hands made slow circles around my shoulder blades, upper arms. When he was sure he wasn’t casing me any pain, he applied more pressure, massaging me the way he’d started to in the tub. His movements were practiced, as if he was skillfully playing an instrument.

  “Good?” he asked as he moved to my lower back, pressing and releasing each knot as if pulling a thread.

  “Yes.” My voice came out sounding like gravel; I was becoming more relaxed than I thought.

  He continued on, smoothing his hands up my legs, my thighs, taking his time around any bruises. In particular, he paid attention to the scars of my inner thighs. He must have known from experience how different skin like this felt when it was touched.

  Elliot leaned down and kissed between my shoulders, sending a warm stream of electricity down to my belly. He wasn’t trying to be overly sexual with me, but my body didn’t care. It warmed to every touch and let him set fire to each nerve. My legs spread slightly on their own, allowing him more access while I secretly hoped he would go further.

  As time passed, he came closer so at times we were skin to skin. When he leaned forward to brush the hair from the back of my neck, I felt the evidence that he w
as being affected just as much as me.

  Surprised, I jolted, letting out a tiny gasp as his hands stilled me.

  “We should get you used to things like this too,” he said, kissing the back of my neck before straightening so I could no longer feel him. He was right. Men—especially a Vulture like Jäger—only cared about one thing where someone like me was concerned. The thought of him naked in this same position made bile rise in the back of my throat. If I had to experience certain things, I’d much rather they were with Elliot—at least the first time. He wouldn’t hurt me or make me feel like a dog. He would make sure I had something to remember when I was locked in a cage or being forced to do who knew what.

  He must have sensed the struggle within me, for he said, “What is it, Doe?” His hands had found their way to my shoulders again, but no other part of him touched me.

  I had to lick my dry lips. “I…agree with you,” I said in a small voice.

  Elliot paused and I imagined he was trying to figure me out. “You want to feel me?” He leaned in close to my ear. “You want me inside of you?” he whispered, and before I could answer, he said, “Where?” His tone was playful, taunting, yet it held promise as well. The boldness of his words made my head spin and I hardly had time to think about them before he spoke again. “Shall I fuck your mouth?” His voice took on a dark edge and I hated the wave of need it sent through me. His hand traveled down my back and grabbed my bare buttock, squeezing a little too hard. “Or shall I take your ass?”

  I shook my head, trying to bury my face in the pillow as much as possible. “I’m sorry.”

  “No,” he said, gentler now. “Once you no longer belong to me, I suspect many men will want to do this and more. You should practice.”

  Tears sprung to my eyes but I wouldn’t let them fall. I wasn’t ready to be so completely stripped.

  “Kneel,” he said before I could think of a response.

  I struggled to sit up; he wouldn’t help me this time and it took me a little while to get into position. With my knees apart and hands behind my head, I was mortified to feel the cold air brushing the dampness between my legs.