Wilt

by Rae, Nikki

  “Look at me.” It was an order, but it wasn’t stern or commanding. My eyes traveled up to him, shocked when they came into contact with his bare erection inches from me before he knelt on the bed. I’d never seen a male this way and my gaze lingered too long on the smooth flesh, the length and the weight of it.

  He was smiling—grinning—when my eyes finally found his. My cheeks burned and he grabbed my chin, pulling my head forward so he could kiss them. “Close your eyes, Doe,” he whispered without fully backing away until I did as he asked.

  Elliot was no longer touching me at all and my heart raced as I wondered what he was about to do.

  “Open your mouth,” he whispered.

  I did as I was told, hands turning to claws at the back of my head.

  “Wider.”

  I took a shaky breath and did so, jaw fully expanded.

  “Good,” he praised. I felt the mattress shift and I fought to keep my eyes closed, desperate to see what he was doing.

  The first taste of skin on my tongue caused my head to rear back, but his palm cupped my head, holding me in place. It took me a moment to realize it was his fingers in my mouth and I stilled, relieved and not completely sure how to explain why.

  “Close.” I wasn’t sure what he meant so I hesitated. “Don’t bite,” he warned. “Just close your mouth.”

  I followed his instructions, breathing heavily through my nose.

  “Suck,” he whispered, but I already was.

  Humiliated, I stopped.

  “Go on,” he urged. “You need to learn so you know how.” As if for encouragement, he kissed the top of my head and repeated, “You’re safe with me, Doe.”

  This actually helped, and I found it easier to do what he said as he slipped his fingers in and out of my mouth.

  Once I was accustomed to that, he went further, fingertips touching the back of my throat and obstructing my breathing. I tried to pull away again.

  “Don’t panic when that happens,” he reassured me, not letting me move. “Struggling is good—they like that—but inside you must remain calm. Breathe through your nose and hold your breath when you need to.”

  I inhaled deeply through my nose and he paused until he thought I was ready to continue. He choked me with his fingers a few more times and I managed to find a rhythm to breathing and holding my breath.

  Just as I thought I was getting the hang of things, his fingers left my mouth, trailing saliva onto my chest. My eyes popped open to look at him, but he was bringing me close so I couldn’t see him as he leaned me back on my knees to the point that it was almost painful and I nearly lost my balance.

  With the same two fingers that had been in my mouth, he reached between my parted legs, ignoring my initial instinct to close them.

  “Fuck,” he growled low in his throat. “You’re dripping.”

  My face flamed again but my embarrassment was short lived as his already soaked fingers rubbed sensitive flesh.

  “Does the thought of me fucking your mouth even with my fingers make you this wet?” There was a teasing edge to the question, but I could also sense surprise in it.

  No one was more shocked than I was. I had no answer for him and denying it was pointless. Instead, my moan in his ear was my response, my thighs tightening around his hand for a different reason now.

  “Are you going to come, Doe?” he whispered. “You get even wetter when you come.”

  I should have been ashamed at his observation but all I could concentrate on was my building release and how to get to it.

  “Answer me, Doe.” Now when I felt his erection against me, it was difficult not to reach out and touch it. Right now, I wanted to know what it felt like, make him feel as good as he made me feel.

  “Yes, sir,” I whispered.

  “Elliot.”

  “Yes, Elliot,” I rasped. It didn’t matter what I called him; he was doing this to me and I didn’t want him to stop no matter who he was. “Please.”

  He groaned and in my haze of pleasure, I scarcely noticed it was because I was in fact touching him. My fingers wrapped around his hard length and I marveled at how soft and smooth it was as my fist moved tentatively up and down.

  The pressure between my legs increased and he doubled the speed as the first tremors of my climax surged through me. I couldn’t believe it was happening already. As my nerve endings sparked and then exploded, I cried out. He smothered the sound with his mouth, tongue stealing my breath as I shuddered beneath him and rode out the wave.

  When it was over, he sucked his own fingers into his mouth, keeping my head exactly where it was so I could smell myself on his smoke-tinged breath. Then his hand wrapped around my wrist, stilling my movements and pulling himself away until we were no longer touching. When we parted, he covered himself back up with his towel and helped me sit in a more comfortable position.

  He ran a hand through his hair as he reached for my robe still lying on the bed and then dressed me without saying a word. I watched him the whole time, but his gaze wouldn’t quite meet my face.

  Then he simply said, “Get some rest, Doe,” kissing my forehead before he turned off the light and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me more cold and confused than I’d been since coming back inside.

  ***

  So on it went, our odd routine. We ate meals together, where he tested my table manners—although I doubted I would be sitting at any tables in the near future—we worked on positions that after a while weren’t excruciating, and we went back to our old titles for good. He was always sir or Master Lyon and I was always Doe. We didn’t talk about where I was going or why. He didn’t touch me again, and I was forbidden to touch him. We slept inches from each other, yet I was to never graze his skin, never reach out to feel his face or scars. Sometimes I contemplated his threat of punishment if I disobeyed this rule just for a chance at human contact no matter how painful.

  To make matters worse, he rarely slept, and when he did, it was fitful and restless. Whenever I woke in the middle of the night, he was always looking back at me, sometimes telling me to go back to sleep and sometimes I wasn’t sure if he slept with his eyes open. I wondered nightly whether this was some mechanism he’d developed as a child or something new that had come when he’d bought me. One made me incredibly sad and the other did as well, if not accompanied by a tiny bit of joy that he was a fraction as uncomfortable as me. A part of me enjoyed it.

  One night, just as I was falling asleep, a whimper woke me. Master Lyon had never made a sound in all the weeks he’d tossed and turned and my eyes shot open at once. Beside me, my Owner thrashed; the gasps and groans were more akin to a child than the man I’d come to know and it unsettled me. Made him too human when I was supposed to be viewing him as an Owner. I’d figured out the first time his distressed sleeping patterns were memories. Each night, he was plunged into the past, helpless and hurt. At the mercy of a cruel man who cut him open just to prove he could.

  “Laissez-moi tranquille,” he said in a small voice. Leave me alone. He’d never said anything before either.

  “S-sir?” I hoped he would settle soon and stop dreaming. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to help or expected to leave him be.

  He didn’t respond, hands reaching towards me in the dark, fingers hot and burning my skin. “Je ne vais pas, Je ne vais pas, Je ne vais pas.” I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.

  His fingertips dug into my shoulders and I yelped, my collarbone still too weak to withstand that amount of pressure.

  “Wake up,” I said, louder. I was horrified when the words went unnoticed and he only moved closer, his leg thrown over mine and his hardness pressed into my hip.

  “Non,” he rasped. “Non. je veux pas!” No. I don’t like it. I don’t!

  I didn’t know who was hurting him, but I could guess what they were doing. He’d been forced the first time. He’d been abused more than even me, the disgraced girl who had destroyed Master Jäger of House Wolf’s face. I took no pleasure in this type
of pain. I just wanted him to wake up so it would end.

  “Sir.” My voice was surprisingly even as I raised it in his ear. “Please wake up.”

  “Je ne…” His grip weakened slightly but it still hurt. Then I felt his hot tears dripping onto my face.

  I needed to reach him. As much as he had hurt me, no one deserved to relive suffering something so horrible and I knew without a doubt that he would do the same for me.

  My hands found their way to his cheeks and I suddenly didn’t care if I would be punished for it.

  “S'il vous plait,” he begged. “S'il vous plait, Monsieur. Ça fait mal.” Please, sir. It hurts.

  My eyes widened at how raw his plea sounded. How desperate. I’d been in that place. I would be again and often.

  “Elliot,” I practically screamed in his face. “Elliot, you’re dreaming.”

  His fingers tightened on my shoulders again and I screamed for a different reason, then reared back and slapped him across the cheek.

  The blow wasn’t all that hard, but it could have been a gunshot in the darkness.

  Finally, as my vision adjusted, I could see him blinking.

  His eyes were glossy with tears, but after staring at me a moment, he let go of me and rolled away to sit at the corner of the bed and run a hand through his unruly hair. He breathed heavily as he switched on the bedside lamp and I could see a slight trembling to his body. Master Lyon sniffled and dried away any remaining tears. He seemed almost afraid to look at me, to see my reaction to what had happened to him as a child. As much as I wanted to deny it, there was a human being underneath the shell he’d created to protect himself.

  “Are you okay, sir?” I didn’t know what else I should say, and he visibly flinched at my words as if he’d forgotten I was there.

  Slowly, he placed his hands on either side of him, gripping the mattress. I watched as the muscles in his back, bathed in the glowing light, contracted. “Yes.” His voice was torn.

  Holding up a hand, two fingers pointed downward at the sheets.

  I did as commanded, crawling to his side. I watched him carefully, convinced I was in trouble for touching him, but he took my hand, holding it firmly against the bed like I would float away if he didn’t.

  We were silent a long time. He caught his breath, and I watched as his eyes opened and closed over and over again as he stared at the wall.

  “I used to have nightmares, too,” I whispered.

  His head turned fractionally in my direction, but his eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “What about?”

  His muscles were still tense, as if he feared relaxing them would bring his shivers back. Tentatively, I placed a hand on his face. I didn’t force him to look at me, but only showed him I was there with the contact. I kissed his feverish brow, the salt of his sweat coming away when I licked my lips. “The bad things,” I whispered. “The things that shouldn’t happen.”

  I wanted so deeply to tell him of all the punishments, the starvation, the cages, and my old Owner. How even when I was at the Safehouse, I would wake believing I was confined, not enough room to even roll over. But I didn’t want to shift his focus back to me. If there was ever a time to get him to talk about the past, now was it.

  He finally faced me, eyes slightly widening when he took in my shoulder. I only wore the robe to bed most nights, and in our struggle it had slipped down. His fingertips grazed the bruised skin. “I hurt you,” he whispered.

  “I’m okay.” It hurt, but I’d been in worse pain.

  He stared a while longer before bending and kissing his fingerprints as if it would erase them. He held my head as he whispered in my ear, “You woke me?”

  I nodded; he’d been so lost that he didn’t even remember me slapping him.

  “Thank you.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “What was it about, sir?”

  He shook his head before slowly pulling away. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “You…” I stopped, unsure of whether I should continue. “You told me the first time you…came, you cried too.”

  I watched his throat move as he swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “You can tell me,” I whispered, grabbing his hand. “I…I want to help.”

  He sighed and placed my hand on the mattress between us before he stood. “It won’t help you, Doe.” There was a trace of the Owner back in his voice, but he was either too drained or didn’t have his entire heart in scolding me. “You won’t change my mind.”

  It surprised me how much the implied accusation hurt. For once, I wasn’t trying to manipulate him. I truly wanted to help. “Sir,” I said, carefully standing and stepping closer to him. “I know that.”

  He looked at me, eyes clear and cheeks flushed.

  “You say I’m safe with you, sir,” I went on. “You’re safe with me, too.”

  He brought me close and nodded into the crook of my neck as if he understood. All too soon, he separated us. “Get back in bed.” His hand lingered on mine as I stepped back.

  I did as he asked, lying down as he tucked the comforter around me. “Are you leaving, sir?”

  He stroked my cheek, studying my face as if he saw something there that he hadn’t before. “No, Doe. Not tonight.”

  He climbed into bed next to me, lying so close with his head on my chest and arm around my waist, carefully avoiding my ribs. I could have cried at the contact, at how he took comfort in me. It was in moments like these that reassured me that he did care. Whatever they might have been, the feelings he felt for me were as real as the ones I felt for him. I would take advantage of every second. One of my hands nestled itself in his hair, stroking and trying to soothe the lingering memories from his mind.

  We didn’t speak again, holding each other as I drifted back into sleep, but we both knew the words he should have said: Not yet.

  Three

  He woke me early, sitting in the small space between my curled up legs and the pillow. I blinked up at him, convinced I’d only just fallen asleep. “I want you to eat,” he said, and I caught sight of the covered tray on the nightstand. He’d said it as if I needed coaxing, but since I’d quit my hunger strike, I no longer did. “When you’re done, I want you to use the bathroom, get undressed, and lie face down on the bed.”

  I had been groggy, but the command jolted any lingering sleep from my body.

  “Take your time.” He stood as if that was all I needed as explanation.

  I watched his face as he stared back at me, gaze still somehow not fully there. He wasn’t really looking at me; he just wanted me to think he was. My stomach flipped with uncertainty and I wanted to know why.

  “What is it, Doe?” he asked when I didn’t move.

  I shook my head. “Nothing, sir.” If he wore a mask, so could I.

  He left me by myself to eat the eggs and toast he’d brought upstairs. When I was done, I padded into the bathroom to relieve myself and brush my teeth. I contemplated combing my hair or even taking another bath to stall, but there was no point. Instead, I walked back into the room, took off my robe, and tried to lie on my stomach without causing myself massive amounts of pain. The furthest I could get was mostly on my side, arm awkwardly pinned between me and the mattress.

  Not long after, Mr. B was knocking on the door. My heart jumped into my mouth at the thought of him seeing me naked and vulnerable again. The first time I had been injured, helpless. Now I was prone to him more or less by choice.

  “Miss?” I heard him ask on the other side of the door.

  I wanted to answer him, but if I did that would mean he would come inside.

  I heard the door crack, but I could tell it wasn’t enough to let him through. “Miss,” he said, voice no longer muffled. “I promise I won’t look.”

  Clenching my teeth, I nodded, hoping he could see my head.

  His footsteps came closer, and he stopped at the bed to take the tray. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Master Lyon had sent him up here not caring whether I’d reached this part
of his instructions. Mr. B said nothing and only the sounds of utensils filled the silence. I wanted to move my head, to open my eyes to look at him, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I hadn’t seen him since I’d come back, and I found that I missed his reassuring expressions. He didn’t make an effort to hide how he really felt the way my Owner did, and it grounded me; I wasn’t imagining everything. Though we didn’t speak, something passed between us. Understanding? Or maybe it was just something exchanged between two powerless people as they waited for the inevitable to happen.

  He slipped back out of the room and I heard the door shut behind him.

  Taking a deep breath, I concentrated on not falling back asleep while I waited for Master Lyon. I hadn’t been awake this early for a long time, and my body wasn’t used to it. My mind replayed fragments of the early hours when it was still dark. The bruises on my shoulders burned with the memory of his touch, the jumble of events from before his nightmare and after blending together. Fortunately, he didn’t make me wait long with these confusing thoughts; I heard the door open without a knock and knew it was him.

  He was quiet, determining whether I’d obeyed him well enough. A pang of anxiety shot into my stomach at the thought that trying was no longer good enough; that I was expected to lie on my stomach no matter how much it hurt.

  I heard him chuckle softly behind me as he came closer. “Oh Doe,” he said, “What are we going to do with you?” He lifted my head and moved my hair away, turning it so I was more comfortable on the pillow without a shield covering my face. He finally came into view, already dressed in dark jeans and a thermal undershirt that covered his arms. However, when he leaned down to stroke my cheek, I could see a glimpse of just the beginning of his chest scars poking through the top.

  As if I was made of glass, he rolled me onto my stomach, arms limp at my sides. He took a pillow from beside me and tucked it underneath so there wasn’t as much weight pulling at my sore muscles and aching bones. He studied me closely. “Is there pain?”

  “Not as much, sir.”