by Rae, Nikki
Master Lyon let out the most exasperated sigh I ever heard, and I held back more laughter, keeping my smile from my face. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Doe.” His voice had become darker here, but it almost felt forced. As if he was trying every tone he could if it meant I would listen to him.
As he kept my hands pinned down between my back and the desk, his free hand shot up to my face and jerked it upward. The tiniest bit of resolve left me when my breath caught in my throat, but I recovered quickly, refusing to show any shock or fear. I felt none.
“I haven’t given you the choice,” he purred into my face, breath hot against my skin. “Have you given up on obeying me already?”
Perhaps he thought this was some act of rebellion in retaliation to what he’d allowed done to me this evening. Truthfully, that had only been the smallest catalyst. Though I’d never experienced the feeling before, it felt how I’d imagine heartbreak would. It was as if everything in me had turned to ice as hard as concrete and every effort to breathe only caused my chest to crack.
Now I looked into his eyes and he stared back at me. “I realized something tonight, sir.”
He raised an eyebrow in anticipation, but other than that his expression remained unmoved. “Is that so?”
I thought quickly of how I should word it. I wasn’t sure how to encompass each horrible sticky emotion clinging to my skin like sweat. But when I spoke, my voice wavered and I hated it. “I’m not ready.”
He seemed confused, not expecting this, but he quickly concealed it as his hand left my face. “We’ve talked about this, Doe.” He held on to that name like it would change anything.
I shook my head. “That’s not what I meant.” He waited for me to explain. It was important he thought he was in control, that I wasn’t trying to beg for my freedom or sympathy. “I meant that…” When I stared down into his chest, it was a legitimate action. It was more difficult than I’d expected to make the words leave my mouth.
More gentle this time, he tipped my head upward with a finger under my chin. “Use your words, Doe,” he whispered.
The fighter in me wanted to thrash at how he spoke to me, but it also simplified things. With so much going on in my head and my life—if you could even call it that—it was also important that things were concise. It could get confusing quickly, and I knew that better now.
“I won’t hurt you,” he added softly.
“You can’t train me,” I said. “Not really. Not for them.” My voice cracked but I wouldn’t back down. “You can’t prepare me for the things that will be done to me, the things I’m forced to do or see.” I didn’t want to give him my vulnerability for the second time this evening, but it was difficult to keep it all out of my voice.
Something in his expression softened, eyes understanding, lips relaxed in neither a grin nor a frown. “What is it you would like me to prepare you for, Doe?” Slowly, giving me the impression that if I pulled away he would let me, he reached up into my hair and undid the braids around the crown of my head.
I swallowed the glass in my throat but my voice came out so raw it was no more than a silent scream. I shook my head, wishing I’d never brought it up.
He cocked his head to the side. “You weren’t prepared to watch me fuck a woman?” He said it so casually, as if it didn’t matter to him and I felt like a child for wanting to cry. I didn’t answer. “You aren’t prepared for someone to fuck you the way she did me?”
I bit the edges of my tongue, keeping it still so I didn’t even think about speaking.
Master Lyon blinked a few times and seemed to realize how harsh his words sounded. “You’re right,” he said, hand combing through sections of my hair he had already freed. “There are things I can’t possibly prepare you for,” he whispered. “But do not ever shut down like that again. You can for them, but never me. Do you understand?”
I only glared back at him. He couldn’t give me orders once I was transferred. He was nothing compared to Jäger, and we both knew that maybe he wasn’t as strong as he thought he was—strong enough to mimic the Wolf.
Master Lyon concentrated on the braids, loosening them the same as Marius had loosened the ropes earlier. After a long time, once all of the braids were undone, he changed the subject. “Are you sore?”
I glanced at him in search of any ulterior motive but found none; it was a real question, nothing else hidden.
I nodded. Marius had helped a lot, but everything still felt stiff.
Finally, the rest of my hair came undone. He took two steps backward as if admiring it in its more natural, wild state. Wordlessly, he cleared away the photo album and the tray of cakes and tea, placing them all on the chair I’d occupied. “Lie down on your back,” he said before the tray had been fully set down. I stared at him. It was a silent peace offering, what we gave each other. Before I moved to do as he asked, he held up a hand to stop me.
“Take off that ridiculous thing,” he said with the first trace of humor I’d heard him use in hours. Another olive branch. He would ask me to do something and I would do it. He wasn’t ordering. He was trying to understand me.
I did this as well, tossing it aside and hearing the many diamonds ping against the wooden floor. Then I lay on my back, now unafraid of anything digging into my back. I didn’t care that I was naked. At least like this, I was me, not some dressed up doll. I think we both preferred it that way.
Nothing was on the desk besides me, and the hard surface was oddly soothing against my tired back and shoulders.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
I looked up at him, unsure. I didn’t like myself when I was weak—especially around him. It used to make me feel safe, like I didn’t have to hide who I was around him, but I’d been wrong.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated, patiently waiting.
I needed to hear that right now, but that didn’t mean he truly meant it. He’d hurt me worse than anyone I’d ever met. Still, I closed my eyes and waited. If he beat me, fine. If he killed me, fine. I found it hard to care about anything when the time between now and my transfer was what I should have been focusing on.
“Keep them closed.” His voice remained soft and I felt the fabric of his pants brush against my skin as he stepped back towards the desk. He was no longer trying to scare me, and if he was going to punish me he would have made it clear. Licking my dry lips, I concentrated on keeping my eyes shut, even when I heard the desk drawer open and felt its vibration underneath me. Then the drawer shut with a soft sound and I could sense he was back at my side. I smelled his clove and earth scent as he leaned over me, the slight tinge of wine acidic in my nostrils.
He brushed a few strands of hair out of my face, fingers lingering on my skin and trailing down my nose and lips as if he was exploring unknown territory. Perhaps he needed tonight to realize some things as well. He wasn’t as in control as he thought; he wasn’t as confident in his decisions as he thought. Although this comforted me, it ultimately changed nothing.
Exhausted from the events, it was as easy to slip into his touch, like slipping into a warm bath. I was ashamed when I realized I was moving, pressing my face into his palm and searching for it whenever he paused. It caught me off guard as I held still. “Keep your eyes closed, Doe,” he repeated as if to remind me. “Understood?”
I nodded, hastily adding, “Yes, sir,” and hated how I’d automatically said it without thinking.
I felt a soft material against my eyelids and them with a start I realized what he was doing: Putting the hood back on.
His hand landed in the center of my chest when I jumped, instinctually trying to get away. “It’s only going over your eyes, ma petit,” he cooed, securing the drawstring at the bottom so it rested where my nostrils began, blocking my view entirely.
I struggled to calm myself and settle back against the desk. Master Lyon smoothed his fingertips up my arm, feeling the raised red impressions the rope had left behind. “Were you afraid tonight, Doe?” he asked,
and I could hear a tiny click just before the strong scent of lavender filtering through my clouded thoughts. “Is that why you’re acting out?”
His hands were firm yet not painful as he massaged what felt like lotion into my bad shoulder, moving hair out of the way so he could work on my tight neck muscles as well.
“Yes, sir.” I decided I would let him think this was the answer to both questions he’d asked.
“What was it that scared you most?” he asked as his fingers worked out the aches in my body while his words kept me from fully relaxing.
“I…” I didn’t know why I’d answered at all. I was already giving in to him and I wanted to be stronger.
“Don’t,” he whispered, fingers stilling.
I opened my eyes just a fraction so I could look at him but then remembered the hood.
“Don’t go back to that place,” he whispered and I closed my eyes again. “Talk to me.”
My throat suddenly felt tight. I hadn’t expected to be so emotional and I hoped I hid it well with the added protection of him being unable to see my eyes. “I don’t know,” I rasped, “sir.”
He was quiet then, taking his time rubbing the lotion into my skin. “Was it being blindfolded?” he asked, hand grazing the fabric covering my face.
“No, sir,” I whispered.
Quietly, he traced the contour of my neck and collarbone, light fingers traveling between my breasts. “Was it eating from the floor?”
I was surprised he kept guessing rather than demanded I tell him, but these small things meant much more when they came from him. It was as close to an apology I would get, him allowing me to keep the words out of my mouth.
It took him a long time to ask, “Was it what I said to Mia in front of you? About not belonging to you?”
Maser Lyon’s hand moved back up between my breasts, lingering there before his fingers grazed the scar I’d created in my collarbone.
“No, sir.”
As if not expecting this answer, he paused. “No?”
I shook my head, eyes still closed despite the hood. “No, sir.”
He resumed roaming my body, more purposeful than before, yet not touching me in any way inappropriate or sexual. He seemed deep in thought, concentrating on each line and curve as if the answer he sought hid there.
“Because of Mia.” This time, it wasn’t a question.
I could feel his hands return to my head and he quickly undid the hood’s ties and took it off. I barely had time to blink away the sudden change to light from dark when he slipped his hand under my shoulders and helped me sit up.
This time, when he looked at me, I saw the real Elliot, not the man I’d seen tonight. He cupped the side of my face, studying me as if I was the most confusing creature he’d ever beheld. Somehow, I didn’t think he would continue his guessing game now. He wanted to hear it from me. In my voice.
Taking a deep breath, I search for the determination I’d had before and couldn’t find the smallest amount. “I just…didn’t like it.”
His eyes narrowed; he knew there was more. “Disliking something and being scared are two different things, Doe,” he said gently. “What was it about Mia sucking my cock and fucking me that scared you?” He continued in the calmest, most patient of tones, but the words were so blunt they tore at me like hungry little spikes.
I glanced away and hadn’t even completed the action before he guided my gaze back to him. “What did I say?”
It took a second to remember all he’d said to me and pick out which response best fit. “You’re not going to hurt me, sir.”
Master Lyon nodded once. There was no trace of the man from the wine cellar. I wasn’t afraid of this man or what he would do to me. When I saw him like this, my anger turned to aching somewhere between joy and pain. When I saw him like this, I would tell him anything.
“I’m afraid of losing you.” My voice was less than a whisper, a strangled cry ripped from my chest. Tears welled in my eyes but I refused to let them fall. “I’m most afraid of losing you,” I added on a whisper.
He slowly let go of my face and stood straighter, arms crossed as if he was still searching for something in me. “You’re right, Doe,” he said in a low voice. “I cannot prepare you for everything.
Hearing the declaration from him made its reality hurt that much more.
“But you will not lose me.” He stopped a breath before he added, “I don’t need to prepare you for that.”
I bit my cheek but the tears still came. I didn’t delude myself into thinking it was true; just because he believed this meant nothing. It wasn’t enough. So despite having just promised myself I wouldn’t, I cried. I cried for the futility of it all, the hopeless hope we would someday be together, that I wasn’t destined to live the rest of my life between the Wolf’s fangs.
He wiped my tears away with his thumb. “I’ll let you cry now,” he said, like it made a difference. “I can prepare you for most everything else,” he whispered, still touching me. “I can try to do so,” he corrected, “but I don’t want you to cry.” There was no threat behind his words, no force. It was more than just because I’d disobeyed him; he truly didn’t want me to be upset when it was impossible.
Master Lyon didn’t want me to be hurting. He didn’t want to cause me pain. But people like us rarely got what we wanted.
Sniffling, I hiccupped on my last few sobs and reached up to my face, rubbing away whatever remained on my cheeks.
When he was sure I was done, he tilted my chin upward. “There you are,” he whispered, a slightly brighter smile spreading across his face.
My chest felt tight at these words. He’d said them to me the first time we met. Before all of this. Before my heart had become a solid, immovable thing. I could see the realization in his eyes even as he stepped away and went to retrieve the tray.
“For a girl who suffered starvation because of cake,” he said as he placed everything on the desk where it had been, “I figured you should at least get to try something that wasn’t stale or from the grocery store.”
The dish which held the assortment of cakes looked like it belonged to the set of fine china we ate meals on, not the crystal that had been on the floor in the wine cellar.
“You think you can make me feel better with cake?” I asked, eyebrow raised in what I hoped was a non-threatening manner.
He smirked, but couldn’t find a suitable answer. “Do you want it or not, Doe?”
I wasn’t sure my stomach could handle anything right now, let alone so much sugar. He set the plate down beside me, reached across my lap, and poured more tea into the empty cup and saucer. He stared back at me as he held it out, waiting for me to take it. “I want to help,” he murmured. “Please let me.”
The desperation in his eyes made a small part of me smile and I didn’t immediately feel guilty about it. Even so, I took the cup from him and held it between my hands, allowing it to warm my chilled nose.
“I used to drink it.” Though his expression didn’t change, I could see the muscles of his jaw silently working as he nodded once. “When I was younger.”
I blinked up at him, pleading he continue. I needed to see something of myself in him right now; something that made us the same when we were so completely different in every other way.
“Whenever something my Owner did scared me.” Perhaps so he wouldn’t have to look at me as he spoke, Master Lyon walked around the desk and wheeled over the chair so he could sit slightly below me.
The action itself was as intimate as if he’d kissed me. He was sending a message: I wasn’t below him. In the world of the Order, that might have been true, but the one we’d spun between us was governed by different rules. Here, we were the same.
“It helps soothe your stomach,” he finally said, choosing not to elaborate more on all the horrible things his Owner had done.
I sipped the warm liquid and tried my best to hold in the sigh of relief it brought with it. “It’s good, sir,” I said to fill the s
ilence, taking a fuller sip and savoring the mint this time.
He watched as I swallowed. “It’s from the greenhouse,” he said, eyes still not meeting mine as he fiddled with the edge of the plate against the desk. He looked almost pathetic. That was what Fawn would have called him all those months ago. Before he shattered her and built a statue in her place. I couldn’t muster enough anger towards him anymore. I was dumb enough to want to hold him, but not dumb enough to try.
Instead, I looked down at the cakes and made more of a show than I needed to as I selected a dark chocolate one with some elaborate edible gold design on top. Smiling, I ate it in one bite then picked up a second. By the third, I wasn’t even trying to console him. I found that my body craved the sugar and the cakes were soft and velvety in my mouth.
“Good?” He chuckled, some light finally coming back into his face.
I nodded, taking a break once I was finished to drain the rest of my tea.
“It should help if you’re dizzy.”
When I glanced at him, he was staring at the floor, hands folded in his lap. He’d put up a good fight, but now his walls had been breached. Whoever sat before me now wasn’t the same person as who’d I’d seen in the cellar. This man was scared. This man felt remorse. This man didn’t want to do this any more than I did.
“Sir,” I whispered, and his head lifting the tiniest bit was the only acknowledgement I received. “May I make one request?”
His eyes narrowed back at me as he completely lifted his head. He could have toyed with me, laid out rules, reminded me that I wasn’t the one in charge, but he didn’t. Instead, he nodded.
I could have asked for anything in that moment. One look into his deep eyes and how they begged me—to help him or hate him, I still wasn’t sure—and I knew it to be true. But I already had something in mind, and it was more important than any other possible favor I could have asked.
“You told me not to shut down in front of you again,” I said quietly. “I want to ask the same of you.” I licked my lips. “Don’t hide the real you from me when you don’t have to. Please.”
He sat back in his chair with a mildly confused expression, seeming to contemplate his words before he said them. “The real me?” he whispered to himself. “How can you be so sure I’m not always the real me?”
