“You do,” I whisper with conviction, because it’s not just something I’ve been trained to say. It’s true. I may hate him. I may plan my escape and plot his death every second he’s not touching me, but that makes me no less his. Ares owns me. A part of me thinks that no matter what happens, he always will.
“Who tells you when to come?”
“You, Sir.”
“That’s right. Now clean up your goddamn mess.” He takes his cock that’s slowly leaking cum, and shoves it roughly against my lips. They crack. I wince, running my tongue over the fresh cut. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. I feel my teeth smeared with it.
Ares’ responding stare is ravenous. He pulls me to my feet, and he does something he never has—he kisses my lips, hard, and penetrating, and all-consuming. Like gasoline to a flame. He tugs me closer, one hand in my hair the other encircling the nape of my neck, and as his fingers kiss the fragile bones of my throat and threaten to shatter them, to suffocate me, his tongue dominates my own.
I can’t breathe. I can’t remember my past, but I know I’ve never quite been kissed like this. With so much passion, and vigor, and life.
Too soon, he shoves me away. He lets me go and my knees are so weak, my body and mind so stunned, that I fall.
For a beat, I stare up at him. That cool mask of his is completely gone, and the man beneath stares back at me, rattled. He turns and stalks from the room, and I’m left shaking and crying on the floor because that’s not how we play the game. He’s never kissed me like that, nor has he ever left me without the kind of aftercare I’ve come to expect. Tender touches, and forehead kisses, and long, luxurious baths where I curl into his warmth, and he soothes the burn, the ache, and ultimately makes me feel safe.
Without it, I’m bereft. Lost on dry land, a land of gods and monsters where I am nothing. Less than nothing. Or perhaps I’m already dead. An angel of white and gold, covered in mud and black ichor, far too fragile for this place. Too broken for the horrors to really sink in. Unlovable and undeserving.
I crawl to the closet, and pull up the soft fur rug, curl up in it, and cry. Why would he do this to me? This isn’t part of the game. This isn’t how we play. This isn’t a victory for either of us. It’s an impasse, a stalemate, and it hurts far worse than losing.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ares
The door slams shutbehind me and I roar my frustration to the empty house. She can’t hear me. The walls are soundproofed, but I need to get away. I need to put as much distance between me and Pet as I can.
I prowl into the kitchen, upending the table in my frustration. The chairs clatter against one another. This morning’s coffee cup ricochets off the wall, spilling black liquid down the eggshell surface.
“FUCK!” I roar. I hadn’t meant to kiss her. I hadn’t ever meant to do that. In all the time I’ve trained slaves, I’ve kept them from this one truly personal act. I haven’t regretted what I’ve done, not for a second, not in the ten years my brother and I have been doing this. I’ve never had one regret, but this? This was unforgiveable. I need to erase the tape so Hermes will never see.
I set the table to rights, clean the coffee from the wall, and then I stalk back to the viewing room. Several motionless screens stare back at me. It doesn’t take long to find my Pet. She’s huddled in the closet, wrapped in the rug from the floor. Where she goes when she’s sad. Always that same fucking spot.
Shit. I just undid weeks’ worth of work, weeks of trust exercises down the fucking shitter because I couldn’t control my impulses. I’m no better than my siblings.
I watch her for a beat. She rocks back and forth, the movements so infinitesimal I doubt she’s even aware she’s doing it.
“Jesus,” I say to no one at all, and beat my fist against my skull because I fucked up badly. I fucked it big time. I have no right to kiss her.