He sat to wait and sip his bourbon, having no doubt she would come to him. He’d heard her door close half the hour earlier. As he was getting a refill, two raps on the door stopped his heart.
Okay, so he had been anticipating her more than he’d previously admitted. A breath to calm himself and he opened the door to find her more lovely than ever he’d seen. Except, perhaps, that moment when she had given his son back his life. That was not a thing to think on in this moment, however. He took her by the hand to bring her inside, seated her in the center of the three cushioned sofa. Knowing how she liked her drink, he brought her a bourbon and water with ice.
Sitting facing her, he turned off the television. She turned onto her hip, curling up into a set of curves he found impossible to resist. A single finger traced a line down her thigh to her knee.
“You were annoyed with my diligent soldier,” she opened in K’Tran. “We can talk now.”
“Yes, but now I have you here and I do not want to speak lest we ruin the magic between us,” he smiled softly. “You know well what you do to a man. I need not tell you.”
“A woman likes to hear it all the same.”
His eyes held an uncommon expression she recognized. He’d looked at her this same way the first night she had spent in his Gar suite in her home line.
Home line. She needed to amend that. Birth timeline. This was her Home line now. She put her drink down, laying her head on the high cushion.
“I have watched you kill numerous men,” he said. “No one can deny you are a warrior. I am expected to have many mates. I loved Curry’s mother. You understand the importance of that statement. But it takes a warrior to speak to the soul of a warrior. You had spoken to my soul before I ever saw you, before we met. Curry told me how you blew up the Rovan house, the barracks, how you let Ch’Wik live. A female warrior unafraid of death and possessing K’Tran morals regarding the enemy is an extraordinary find,” he ended in a whisper, finger tracing down her neck. “Tell me what you want from this night.”
“For a memory to be replaced with a reality. For my soul to be at peace come the dawn.”
“What is your conflict?” he asked. “You said you do not regret.”
“Sometimes it is hard to remember you are not the man I knew a lifetime ago. I work very hard to see the man you are and not the man I knew.”
“How can I help?” he asked, holding her hand and leaning closer to her.
“Be yourself and not what I think you should be. Your counterpart and I…we were rather adversarial. He was ardent and I wasn’t going to be a conquest. To have me, he had to give up himself. Don’t let me do that to you.”
His fingers slipped around her neck to lift her head from the cushion.
“You cannot make me do anything I do not desire,” he said, and claimed her in a kiss.
Skilled hand slipped the lace from her shoulders, his eyes bearing into hers as their mouths parted.
“You are here. You know what a Gar expects. Your presence is your full consent or you must leave and never come to my bedchamber again,” he said.
“Just keep my shoulder and ribs in mind,” she said.
His finger traced her bottom lip. “I know your injuries well enough. You will put no conditions on me, woman. Do you stay or do you go?”
She smiled. “I’m not going anywhere except to your bed.”
“In my own time. First you will know, without a doubt, that I am not he.”
“I already do.”
“You admitted only a moment ago it is something hard to remember. Do you now recant that statement?” he asked.
“Then I will make absolutely certain you know the difference.”
The robe and thin straps came down farther, to bare her to the waist. Strong mouth on hers, confident fingers finding and opening butterflies until her hair was freed. She gasped a shocked sound when a comb’s hinged teeth bit into her areola.
“Mankell,” she breathed, and his fingers pressed her lips.
“No woman speaks my name unless I give her permission. I am your Gar.”
He applied a comb to her other areola.
“Or what?” she challenged.
His fingers closed on a comb, forcing it to bite her flesh much harder. “Or you will wish you had. I do not want a battle of wills with you. You came to me of your own free will because you wanted to. Do not ruin it now by being contrary.”
With her fully vocal cry, he let go the butterfly. His hand flat on her chest plate, he pushed her back to lie on the cushion. Pulling the nightgown and robe from her, tossing them to the floor, he saw her knees parting. He pressed them together.
“When I want you, I will open you,” he said, easing closer to sit beside her bent legs and hold them to the back of the sofa with his side. Her left arm could not be raised over her head. He took off his silk pants and led her hand to his scrotum.
“Show me you know what pleases.”
Her hand opened to cradle his heavy sack and caress as far around as her fingers would reach, stroking the hard line of its natural seam. He bent over to kiss from her belly up to the hard bone between her breasts. A gentle finger slid into both butterflies to flick over her hard nipples. She squirmed under him, sighed with delight, rendered up her tongue when his lips again claimed hers.
“How many orifices have you?” he asked.
“How many of them are mine?”
“All of them.”
He removed a butterfly to give her nipple the reward of a long, strong pull of his mouth in sucking, repeating with the other. Butterflies clattered to the table. She groaned, thighs sliding with need quickly approaching critical. He continued the suck, one hand holding her breast and the other stroking up his shaft over her hand.
“Mankell,” she breathed, slipping that easily into her passion.
A kiss to her lips, his voice in her ear. “Turn over.”
Stiff, not at all easy with her painful shoulder and stiff spine, she turned herself carefully. He did not prompt her to hurry, let her take her time so she would not hurt herself. She heard him swallow, heard the glass placed on the table, and reared up as hard coldness was held tight between her buttocks. A piece of ice. With his other hand on the back of her good shoulder, he easily held her down.
Shrieking ended, kicking ended with his one question. “What did you call me?”
Silence, her sides heaving as she caught her breath from the shock. “Your name,” she realized.
“Do you wish you hadn’t?” he asked.
Hard frozen lump burning deep into her sensitive flesh.
His thumb pushed the half melted lump into her anus and he moved back to sit on the sofa.
“Come here before me, on your knees.”
Much easier for her to push up on her right arm, she slipped off the sofa.
“Low? Tall? Knees together? Apart?” she asked.
“Whatever you do I will change it, so it matters not how you start.”
Her eyes taunted and she stood tall with her knees far apart and arms behind her.
He reached past her for two butterflies, putting them back on her areola vertically rather than horizontally. He stood to look down on her, grasping her hair to pull her head far backward. Beautiful green eyes, sanguine in her submission, so trusting.
“Is my mastery at all in question?”
“No, my Gar,” she replied.
He let go, took his glass and hers to get more ice, brought back a letter opener from the desk. He gave her a sip, took a sip from his own, looked down on her as she looked up at him. A visage to bring his blood to a roil.
“On my bed. Be ready for me.”
“Are you going to remove these?” she asked, meaning the butterflies.
She could have removed them herself and faced the consequences. Instead, she rose to stand, walking a controlled, unhurried pace around the sofa to the bed near the windows. She opened a drawer, placed a purple tube on the table before sitting to pull herself backwards and lie down.
He left a sitting area lamp on for dim light, bringing both glasses to the bedside. She also heard the letter opener clatter onto the table. He had plans for it.
“What is this tube?”
“Lubricant. Helpful for riding my ass nice and hard.”
He slid into place beside her. “What if I don’t want to ride hard?”
“Still helpful for penetration. I love to be fucked up my ass.”
He grasped a butterfly wing between finger and thumb and pulled upward. The teeth bit into her flesh, brace preventing her from arching her back much.
“You are beautiful in butterflies,” he said, easing her breast down with a kiss to her lips. “I think not all Earth women enjoy pain as you do.”
“You’re right. Some like it more,” she teased.
He smiled but did not take her bait.
“Before he turned your bed to block the window, I observed the Dragon handle you roughly. More so than I have ever handled any of my North House women. I have, at times, been concerned. Then your pheromones reach me and I know you are in your bliss. When did you learn pain as pleasure to that degree?”
“It’s hardwired. I’ve always had it. What was taught to me was pain as an expression of love. That started when I was fifteen.”
“Fifteen? Before breeding age?” he questioned, hand reaching down her inner thigh.
“I have known the joy of sex for a long time,” she smiled.
He took the butterflies off, tossed them to the table on the opposite side of the bed.
“Who taught you that young?” he asked. “What was his name?”
“Master? You were a slave to him?”
“No. Not slave. More like a possession he allowed to roam free. But he was Master and I submitted to him. As I am submitting to you,” she said.
His fingers slid between her labia to the slickness of her arousal.
“I like the way you whimper,” he said when she made the sound. He made her make it again by exploring the small protrusion of flesh near the top of her slit.
“I like the way you make me whimper,” she replied. “I can be very loud. Do you prefer I try to keep quiet?”
“I know how loud you can be. You will make exactly the sounds I want you to.”
She laughed. “I have always loved that K’Tran arrogance.”
“You aren’t forgetting who is who, are you?” he teased, bringing his fingers to his mouth to taste the musk he was already so familiar with.
“No. Are you annoyed my bed is turned to block the window?”
It was his turn to laugh.
“Turned, yes, but when you are tall on your knees, ridden from behind, your breasts bounce merrily and your expressions are enough to make a man burst into flame. I have seen how vigorously you ride when so inspired. I would not have been surprised to see the two of you spark a fire with the force and friction of your passion. Many times have I watched you in passion and pleasured myself, or been pleasured by a mouth.”
Seconds of silence between them, eye to eye.
“I often watch you in the sand garden. I watch how you are used and have longed to be the one between your lovely thighs. Open wide and be prepared for me to fulfill my longing for the rest of the night. I will have you every time I am recovered.”
Her thighs parted and he inhaled the full scent of her arousal, heady and familiar. He bent over first to lick from the top down, tasting her flesh directly and feeling those sharp talons of hers dig their points into his back and scrape his skin. Licking was a thing he did not do to his favorites, only with Lenore. Tyler’s scent seared itself into his nostrils, into his brain, into the place left vacant by Lenore’s death.
When his nostrils and brain were full with her, he turned to place himself into position. Forearms intentionally pinning her down by her hair, his hard length slid steadily into her slickness, her tight, welcoming warmth. He was strong but not forceful, using that steady drive ending in long, firm pressure on the end of her channel. Gasping, breathless, she was taken to the edge of climax every time. He recognized that her conscious mind disengaged from the instinctive body during sexual intercourse. The body acted, reacted, was driven by blind instinct.
“Please, Kell,” she said only minutes into their joining.
“Please make me cum.”
He withdrew, lifted aside. “Turn over and I can be more vigorous with you.”
It was an effort, the brace and pain of her ribs and shoulder both slowing her in different ways. In place, she felt a cold drop on her buttock.
“What did you call me?” he asked.
She was motionless, thinking, trying to remember any words she’d spoken. “Oh, fuck.”
Bigger piece of ice between her buttocks, good shoulder pinned to the bed while she kicked her feet and pushed upward.
“If you fight discipline, discipline lasts longer,” he said.
She stopped moving as much, squealing with the unbearable cold over her anus.
“I enjoy your squirming. I can do this a dozen times if I must.”
“You would,” she said.
“Will you have trouble remembering now?” he asked.
“No, I think you got it covered.”
“Good.” He threw the ice. It thunked off the wall and fell to the floor. “Remember to call me Gar so I don’t have to do that again. Next time, the shaft of ice will penetrate and be held until it melts in the middle.”
She laughed a genuine sound. “That sounds like fun.”
“You think?” he asked, kissing her right shoulder as he moved back into position.
“I like everything, even discipline I hate. You’re inventive and that makes everything fun. I’ll make you a deal. I will never mention your other timeline counterpart ever again if you don’t,” she said.
“That would be a good agreement,” he said, and lunged into her welcoming channel.
He made good his vow to have her every time he was recovered. After five times remembering to call him Gar, he told her to use his name instead. She did not refuse him even once, both well-aware this might be the only night they would spend together.
At dawn he took her to her own room, put her to bed with another ten minutes of oral pleasures. So slippery a tongue, as strong as Jerome’s had ever been, mercilessly sending her into the one and only clit popper of their encounter. He left her utterly exhausted, completely drained of the last remnants of her strength, and sound asleep. He went to Pisod’s door to let the guard know it was time for duty again.
“Call me when she wakes,” Mankell instructed.
“Only if she tells me to,” Pisod replied, shutting the door.
About the Author
TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twenty fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2
You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828
She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.