| |
Two days later, the mornings full of holy water production, the afternoons busy with Blessing as many nuns as possible, and the evenings full of combat training with Glory and some of the local Guild warriors, Lucían digs through his satchel for the first time since the revelation about the undead. Shannon and Helena have sent him a combined letter, and one for Glory as well, and he needs his inks and pens so he can send a response. He’s thinking he’ll write Shannon’s letter in a very complicated script, so they’ll have to try and re-create it in their next letter back to him. They’ve mastered the more simple copperplates and scrolling techniques he’s taught them so far, so it’s time for a challenge.
“Helena says some of her friends want to commission you for portraits,” Glory says, eyes on her parchment, her brow slightly furrowed. He’s trying not to stare as she reads, but it’s just the first time he’s actually seen the tool she uses that helps keep her keep track of the words. It’s two slender metal pieces that hinge at right angles, and when she combines them she can make a rectangular frame of whatever size she needs to lay across the page. He can see how it would make it easier not to get lost in the writing. Glory scoots the little frame down another line and, after a moment of biting her lower lip and frowning, adds, “Apparently it’s the color work. People are very impressed.” She grins brightly and looks up, setting the letter aside as she returns to her previous chore of oiling her armor. “I knew you’d be popular, you’re an amazing artist, Lucían.”
Lucían ducks his head and blushes. “I—” he starts, rummaging deeper in his bag, not sure what he’s about to say. His hand closes on a heavy, rectangular bundle, which proves to be the illuminated copy of The Words of Our Lord that the nuns recovered for him, large and scripted and here to remind him about the existence of books as a concept. Lucían immediately forgets what he was trying to say and smacks himself in the face. “Hells,” he says when Glory looks up from her armor. “There’s another book in Granite Falls and I totally forgot about it.”
“Huh,” Glory says, hands stilling as she looks into the middle distance. “Yeah, that’s right.” She pauses. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Lucían agrees. They both fall silent for a long moment. “I guess we should go get it?” Lucían offers. It seems like a much lower priority when it was when they’d arrived, Lord, less than a week ago? What with the undead to prepare for and the nuns to train and the upending of centuries of a patriarchal deathgrip on magical ability, a single book containing a boring account of a historical battle no longer registers as particularly important.
“I suppose,” Glory says with a groan, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes with the hand not holding the oily rag. “If only because I hate leaving a job half done. And also because there’s a clause in the contract I have with the Abbot that says he has to pay a bonus if I can recover all seven books, and I like taking his money.” She sits back up, a dark streak of oil and metal tarnish smudged into her hairline. “Today’s technically a rest day and we don’t have anything actually scheduled. We could just go check it out now?”
“Fiiiiine,” Lucían says with a long sigh, setting the holy book down on the bed and reluctantly getting to his feet. “I’m not sneaking in through a godsdamned window this time, though, I promise you that.”
They check the location of the book on the large map in the library before they head out and get confirmation that, yes, it’s still in the neighborhood where if you wander alone at night you’re likely to get robbed. Lucían grumbles internally the whole ride over. It’s written in Verimora with fancy lettering and no one cares about the battle described therein. What’s it worth outside of a library, anyway? Why would anyone bother stealing it in the first place? Is there a huge underground market for boring historical poetry? If so, why?
“We’re here,” Glory says, slowing Tulip to a walk and jerking her chin at a street that honestly doesn’t look much different from any other street. Maybe there’s a little more garbage in the alleys? It’s not what Lucían would have thought a rough neighborhood would look like, and he absently wonders what factors combine to make one area less safe than another. “Find us a book, my love.” Lucían blinks and shakes his head a little, re-centering himself on the actual situation in front of them, and pulls the crystal tracking pendant out of a pocket.
It takes about twenty minutes of criss-crossing the neighborhood, but Lucían’s gotten better at doing this spell out in the world and that skill eventually points them at a run-down warehouse. He sighs as they ride by, as though on their way to another destination, and watches the crystal track the warehouse the whole way. “Oh, good,” he says sullenly. “Another warehouse.”
“I’m beginning to think your heart isn’t in this one,” Glory says as they ride away. Lucían can’t stop himself from making a face that he knows is immature. She glances at him and snorts, looking away quickly before she starts laughing for real. “We don’t have to,” she says quietly, and he looks at her, startled. “We can tell him it was irreparably damaged and there was nothing we could do. I’ll still get paid, I just won’t get the bonus. It’s not like the Abbot has any choice about hiring me for future work.”
Lucían considers it, he really does. She’s offering him a way out, and he wants it, doesn’t want to sneak into any more warehouses where people with knives want to rearrange his guts, doesn’t want to focus on recovering a book of useless poetry (of all things!) when he could be helping people with actual problems, like, just as an example, the undead. But... damn it, he hates leaving something undone, and the book in there was illuminated by one of his Brothers and that work deserves respect, and he also wants to see the look on the Abbot’s face when the man has to pay Glory an even larger amount of money.
“Let’s get the damned book,” he grumbles, and sees Glory grin out of the corner of his eye. “At least it’s not raining this time.”
Fortunately for Lucían, the gods apparently don’t have a sense of dramatic irony, so when they return later, under the cover of darkness, it is still not raining. The area around the warehouse has fewer lamps than elsewhere in the city, and they glide from shadow to shadow until they’re pressed up against the stone wall of the building. It’s a smaller warehouse than the one they’d infiltrated in Knightsrest (Where I got stabbed! Lucían can’t help but think) and more dilapidated. Whoever has the book is running either a smaller, poorer operation or finds it useful to conceal their movements under the guise of poverty. The windows are low enough that Lucían only has to sit on Glory’s shoulders in order to reach, and he holds up the flat of one of his knives and peers at the reflection in the blade.
The interior is dimly lit, just a few oil lamps flickering here and there, and he doesn’t see anyone inside. That’s mostly because this particular window is half-blocked by a shelf with some moldering crates on it, and Lucían taps Glory on her right side with his heel. She shifts to the right, and he angles his blade back and forth to get a better look at the place. They circuit most of the building that way, and when Glory sets him back down on his feet he’s frowning.
“I only count four men,” he says quietly as they huddle in a patch of deeper shadow. “They’re armed, but not well, daggers and short swords.” He hesitates, trying to figure out what’s bothering him about the situation. “When we did this in Knightsrest, those men looked sharp, dangerous, yeah?”
Glory nods. Lucían worries at his lower lip for a minute and finally says, “I don’t see that here. These men just look tired. It doesn’t feel the same...” He squeezes his eyes shut and blurts, “I don’t want to kill them, Glory, it’s not right.”
“Hey,” Glory says, gripping his shoulder and tilting his chin up with her hand until he opens his eyes and looks at her. “We don’t have to kill them. We wouldn’t have killed anyone last time but they attacked us. We can figure something out. We still don’t even have to get this book, we can go home and go to bed if that’s what you choose.” She leans down to kiss him, once, a reassuring heat against his lips. It fills him up, steadies him, and when Glory pulls away Lucían breathes easier.
“Okay,” he says, thinking hard. It was dim inside, and the men were listlessly playing some kind of dice game rather than patrolling so they’re not expecting any kind of attack or even disturbance. Back in the warehouse in Knightsrest (he winces internally every time he thinks about it) the smugglers there hadn’t been expecting to face magic. Maybe he can use that somehow? Take them by surprise? He remembers, suddenly, late night pranks with his Brothers, and starts to grin. “I think I have an idea.”
Glory follows him back around to the front doors of the warehouse without asking him to elaborate, which he’s glad of, because it feels silly to explain it. The hinges are in ill-repair, which helps with his plan. He presses his hands to either side of the top hinge and gets ready to do something possibly foolish.
Lucían shoves heat into the hinge, hard and fast, until the wood around it starts smoking and threatens to burst into flame, then yanks the heat back out, even faster, until the hinge goes so cool it frosts over. The metal creaks slightly and he grins. The theory is sound, then. He repeats the process, driving heat in and yanking it back out, until the metal finally gives up under the stress and snaps. Lucían presses his ear to the door and listens hard, but no one inside seems to have noticed anything. Perfect. The middle hinge goes next, taking a little longer before it breaks, but the bottom hinge had one foot in the grave and snaps after barely two repetitions of the heat-cold cycle. The only thing holding the door on now is the latch on the inside. With a wave of his hand Lucían directs Glory back away from the door, to where they can speak a little more freely.
“You’re going to yank the door down,” he tells her in a bare whisper. “Then just follow my lead. If this doesn’t work—” Lucían shakes his head firmly, not letting himself consider the option. “I think it’ll probably work, but let’s just try and knock them out if we need to.”
“Understood. Swords out?”
“Yes, I think that will help. Be intimidating.”
“You only have to ask,” Glory purrs with a salacious wink as she draws the two swords crossed on her back. That staggers him for a moment because, uh, it’s definitely showed up in some dreams, but this absolutely isn’t the time and he has to stuff that thrilled shiver back down his spine so he can focus. He jerks his chin at the opposite side of the door and presses himself against the wall on his side as Glory transfers both swords to one hand and grabs the heavy wooden handle with the other. Her green eyes flick to his for permission, and when he nods she braces her mighty muscled legs and heaves with one arm and all the power of her shoulders, and holy shit even in the darkness he can see the flex of her biceps and has to, again, shove aside his reaction because there are things to do.
Lucían moves before the door has fully hit the ground, willing magic into being with flicks of his fingertips as he strides into the warehouse with a confidence he doesn’t actually feel. He calls a crown of flames to float above his head, wreaths his hands in more fire, and gives Glory a halo of magelight, coats her swords in a glow so bright it hurts to look at it. It’s a tricky bit of spellcasting, keeping all of them going at once, and he takes the barest moment to be proud. Then there are four men staring up at him with nearly identical expressions of shock and horror, and he gets down to business.
“You have something that belongs to me,” Lucían says out loud, but also projects into their ears, creating the terrifying, echoing effect of speaking as a legion. Glory steps in just back and to the side of him, and he can see the light of her swords reflect in four pairs of wide, stunned eyes as she holds herself at the ready. He points one of his flaming hands at them, keeps the other held with his fingers curled toward the sky, making it look like he’s somehow holding the living flame in and around his palm. “Return my property and we will leave you in peace. If you do not...” He whirls his hands around in a completely unnecessary but elaborate shape and pulls four more flames into the air in front of him. They flicker as he stares, deadpan, at the men, and then he snaps his fingers and the four hovering flames wink out of existence.
“Shit,” one of the men says, “fuck, okay, I’ll give you whatever you want.” His hands are up and his eyes flick back and forth between the literally on-fire Lucían and the very tall, avenging fae glow of Glory.
“Jacob!” hisses one of the other men, and Jacob snaps, “Shut the fuck up, Charles, do they pay us enough to get lit on fire by some magical creepy fuck?” Charles does, indeed, shut the fuck up, and Jacob turns back to Lucían. “What do you want?”
“You have a book,” Lucían says, still in that terrifying doubled voice, “It contains many mystical secrets not decipherable to the uninitiated. Bring it to me at once.” He’s banking on none of these men being able to read Verimora, which is a pretty safe bet but his heart still hammers in his chest.
Jacob nods, wary but willing. “I’m going to get up from the table now,” he says, almost a question, but waits for Lucían’s nod of approval and keeps his eyes on Lucían’s hands, which, and this cannot be overemphasized, are on fucking fire. Jacob disappears into the mildewed shelves and comes back quickly, hands held up next to his head, one holding a hefty, leather-bound volume with gilding on the cover. It’s the right book, and Lucían doesn’t heave a sigh of relief because that would give the game away, but he was also really hoping that there weren’t going to be multiple books involved in this transaction so this is great.
“Good,” Lucían tells him. “Put it on the ground here.” He twitches his fingers and a little flame shoots up from the ground approximately eight feet in front of him. It’ll keep Jacob out of range of Glory’s swords, which is Lucían being nice to the terrified man, but it’s also going to keep them far enough away from Jacob to make it harder for him to get off any attacks. Jacob seems to be a sensible smuggler, at least, and he slowly sets the book down on top of the tiny scorch mark, eyes flitting between Lucían and Glory the whole time, and then immediately backs away until he bumps into the table.
“On the ground, all of you,” the She-Wolf snarls, speaking for the first time since they’d entered the warehouse, and Lucían has never heard that tone of command in her voice and he has to bodily resist the urge to obey. The four smugglers in the warehouse have no such struggle, and there’s a clatter of metal as they practically fling themselves down. “Hands on your heads,” she orders, her voice rumbling, as inexorable as thunder, and eight hands slap onto four heads. She sheathes one glowing sword and steps forward to pick up the book, keeping a careful watch on the rest of the warehouse until she’s back to her position just behind Lucían’s shoulder. “You will count to one hundred before you even think of moving,” the She-Wolf says, still in that deep, deadly, irresistible voice, and damn it this is not the time to get aroused, but Lucían’s already half-hard and is just going to have to deal with that later.
“We were never here,” he tells the huddled forms on the floor, and then he and the She-Wolf back slowly out the door, eyes darting around the warehouse for any final dangers. As soon as they’re outside and far enough around the corner to block any sightlines Lucían drops the spells and they both take off at a sprint, as silently as possible for two people covered in armor and, in the She-Wolf’s case, an impressive array of weapons. They’re three streets away when she grabs him by the arm and yanks him into an alley, so fast that his feet skid on the slate sidewalk.
“What—” he starts, but before he can say anything else her mouth is on his, because she’s lifted him off his feet and pinned him against a wall with the full weight of her body. Lucían’s hands scrabble at her shoulders as she pillages his mouth, kissing him so hard and hot he worries for a moment that he didn’t extinguish all the fire spells. She presses closer, and he wraps his legs around her hips, locks his ankles behind her, and kisses back feverishly, desperately, the anxious energy of a dangerous situation transforming into a wave of desire so quickly it leaves him dizzy. The She-Wolf scrapes his lower lip with her teeth, swallowing down his moan, and Lucían is pretty sure they’re about to fuck in this alley. Some distant part of him considers that he’d never thought alley sex would feature in his life, and now that it’s a possibility his body is incredibly in favor of the idea.
“That,” she says, pulling away from his mouth so he can see her grin, feral and sharp in the dim light, “was brilliant. You’re brilliant, Lucían, gods above, you’re amazing.” The She-Wolf works one hand roughly into his hair, the other under his ass to support his weight (somehow still holding the book), and she kisses him again, tongue shoving into his mouth like she owns him. Lucían moans again, shudders hard against her, and goes limp, ready to submit to whatever she wants from him.
“We need to move,” she says, her lips just brushing his, and Lucían has to smother a whine of protest when she carefully lowers him to his feet. She tucks the poetry volume away in her satchel and he definitely doesn’t have to take the opportunity to adjust himself in his trousers while she does so. When he has control over his legs again Glory takes his hand and pulls him down the alley, away from where they came in, and they exit the other end strolling arm-in-arm, a couple out for a casual stroll. If he’s walking a little strangely while he waits for his erection to subside, well, there’s hardly anyone else out right now so his secret is mostly safe. They make their way to the stable a few blocks away where they’d lodged the horses, and ride back out into Granite Falls proper. Lucían can’t stop grinning, absolutely giddy with triumph. It worked! He did it! They have the book, and no one had to die, and he feels like he could do anything.
They get back to the Guild at moonrise, Glory’s white-gold hair rimmed silver in the light as she swings down off Tulip in the courtyard, and Lucían can’t keep his eyes off her as he leads Daffodil into the stables. His lips are tingling, almost swollen from what she’d done in the alley, and Lord, but he wants her to finish what she started, wants her to pin him down and hold him there. She’s ready to go, he can tell from the way she keeps trailing her hands over the nape of his neck, the way she leans in behind him so she can reach her arms over his shoulders to unbuckle a piece of tack he didn’t need help with, her breath huffing against his ear. They get the horses settled in a rush and hurry upstairs, and Lucían gets barely inside the door before Glory crowds him back against it, her mouth on his and her hands in his hair. She’s being so aggressive, and it’s so close to what he’s wanted from her for so long, and he’s so wild with triumph he’s actually ready to ask for it. He wants this, wants her, but he also wants more, he needs to try, he has to try to tell her, so Lucían drags his mouth away from hers and gasps, “Glory, wait.”
Her hands release his hair immediately, and she pulls back, her brow furrowed in concern. “What is it, Lucían?” she asks, green eyes flicking back and forth between his. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no,” he reassures her, almost tripping over the words, “I just—I need—there’s something I wanted to tell you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now.” His heart pounds hard enough that he can feel it in his ears, wonders if Glory can tell between the layers of armor currently between them.
“Okay,” Glory says, still concerned, and steps carefully back from him. His hands are shaking, he knows she can feel it when she takes one and tugs him over to the table. She sits down, kicking out the other chair for him, and Lucían settles gingerly on it, mind stuttering blankly now that he’s on the precipice of trying to explain his shameful desires.
“I—” he starts, shuts his teeth with a click, and runs a hand over his face. “There are times when I—” he tries again, peters out, and exhales in a sharp huff. “I was hoping you’d—that you’d—” His words fail again, and Lucían slaps his hands down on the table, trembling with frustration and nerves. I want you to hold me down and use me and hurt me, is what he wants to say but can’t get out. I don’t know if it’s normal but I want it very badly and I hope this isn’t what makes you send me away. It’s too forward to just say that, makes him feel flayed open just considering it, Lord, this was a mistake—
“Lucían,” Glory says, reaching across the table and covering one of his hands with hers. Lucían can’t stop himself from glancing up at her, and her green eyes are full of a gentle, warm affection that disarms him completely. She gives his hand a squeeze and says, “Ask for what you want, my love.”
Lucían shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and manages, “Do you remember after the Gala, when we—when we argued?”
“I do,” Glory says, and she sounds concerned, and he knows she has some regrets about that conversation but he has to finish now that he started, so he blurts, “You—you asked if I wanted you to force me. And I do. Want that. From you.” Glory’s grip clenches around his fingers, once, hard, at the same time that he hears her rough intake of breath. Lucían’s eyes shoot open, shit, he’s ruined everything hasn’t he—
That thought dies where it stands, because Glory’s eyes are fixed on him, hungry and hot, her pupils blown so wide he can barely see the rim of green around the edges. He stares, transfixed, as she slowly wets her lower lip with her tongue and rolls her shoulders back infinitesimally. “Come here,” she says, giving his hand a tug, and Lucían lets her pull him out of his chair to stand between her spread knees. “Down,” she tells him, pressing on his shoulder with two fingers, and it’s the most natural thing in the world to go to his knees in front of her, it’s like breathing, except he’s having a hard time breathing right now because is this happening? After he’s settled, kneeling, in front of her, Glory takes his hands and carefully, deliberately settles them on her thighs, thumbs digging in at the junction where her legs meet her hips. When he’s arranged to her satisfaction she slides both of her hands into his hair, strokes her fingers against his scalp until Lucían’s eyes are half-closed and the tension has dropped from his shoulders. Her hands both clench into fists, sudden and with no warning, and the sharp pain of that shudders down his spine, startles an “Ah!” out of his mouth.
“Is this good, Lucían?” Glory asks, her voice a low purr, and Lucían swallows, nods against her grip, pulling his hair again as he moves his head. “Good. Can you open your eyes and look at me, my love?” It’s a struggle, because this is so good and also incredibly embarrassing, and Lucían knows his face is hot and flushed, but he manages to obey her, meets that feral green gaze and shudders again.
“Good boy,” Glory says, and he knows she can hear the way his breath catches when she says that. “I’m going to force you, Lucían,” she says, still in that dangerous low rumble, and Lucían whimpers, feels his cock twitch at those words, oh Lord it’s happening, “but I need you to tell me what you want that to look like. I need you to tell me what will be good for you. Can you do that for me?”
Lucían nods again, wets his lips and swallows, acutely aware of her eyes tracking those movements. “I want—I want you to overpower me,” he says, heart racing, hands trembling on her thighs. “I want to be punished for my sins. I want you to hold me down. I want you to bind me. I—I want you to hurt me, a little.” He takes a deep, shaky breath, but she hasn’t run screaming yet, is in fact still looking down at him with those hungry, dark eyes, so he adds, “I want you to use me. I want to serve you. I want you to take your pleasure from me until I have nothing left to give. I want you to control me.” His fingers flex involuntarily against the muscles of her hips as he pants, shallow and openmouthed, completely floored by his body’s response to kneeling in front of her and telling her his actual fantasies out loud. The dam is broken now, and he can’t seem to stop talking, the words tripping over themselves to fall out of his mouth. “I want you to be the She-Wolf when you do it. I want you to be wearing this—” he raises one shaking hand to trace the necklace, his necklace, set into the collar at her throat “—I want you to claim me. I want to be yours, Glory, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.” His hand drops back to her thigh as he falls silent and waits, shaking with nerves and anticipation, for her reaction.
“Anything else?” she asks, releasing his hair with one hand so she can run a single finger up and down the side of his neck. Lucían blinks hard and tries to focus through the haze of his arousal.
“Sometimes in my dreams you’re wearing the necklace and your fur and nothing else,” he says, a little dazed, and is treated to a low, amused chuckle that shoots heat through his groin. Glory cups his cheek in her hand and runs her calloused thumb across his lower lip, once, twice, and then pushes it into his mouth up to the knuckle. It’s such a minor invasion of his body, all told, that it takes him completely by surprise when he moans out loud, acutely aware of how much he’s leaking into his underclothes. The thumb stays in his mouth, pressed against one of his lower canines, and Lucían blinks up at Glory, dizzy and trembling.
“Is there anything, my sweet boy, that you don’t want me to do?” she asks, taking her thumb out of his mouth and scrubbing it roughly across his lower lip. It’s not a question he was expecting, and Lucían mentally flails, adrift and definitely not functioning at full mental capacity.
“I don’t—” he stammers, trying to make his brain work again “I hadn’t—like what?” he finally manages, forcing himself to keep eye contact because he can at least understand that this question is important, even if he doesn’t know what she means, really.
“Well,” Glory says, stroking one hand through his hair while the other one maintains its grip, “do you want me to cut you with knives to make you bleed? Choke you? Beat you with something made of metal or wood?”
“No,” Lucían says with a frown, “I didn’t—I didn’t know those were—do you want to do that to me?” If she orders him to do it he’ll do it, he realizes, but none of those options sounds appealing for its own sake. Glory shrugs one shoulder lazily, traces her fingers up and down the side of his neck again.
“I don’t find any of those activities appealing, personally,” she says, “but if you really wanted it, I would figure something out. So you have a hard limit of no bodily injury?”
Lucían nods, realizing that perhaps his deviances aren’t terribly extreme after all. Some part of him still functioning at a reasonable capacity for thought makes a note to ask more detailed questions about that later, which he immediately forgets when Glory digs her fingernails into the muscle where his neck meets his shoulder. He whimpers as his mind goes blissfully, delightfully blank.
“I assume hair-pulling is a given,” Glory says into his ear, and he startles because he hadn’t realized she’d leaned that close, “but how else do you want me to hurt you? Do you want me to strike you with my hands? A belt? Should I use my teeth? My fingernails?” She uses the hand in his hair to yank his head to the side, exposing the long line of his neck, and bites him on the tendon just below the ear, making his cock throb painfully.
“Yes, fuck, please, yes,” Lucían babbles, hands trying to get a grip on her thighs and scrabbling uselessly against the leather of her armor. “All of it, I need it, please—” He only stops begging because she crushes her lips to his, holding his head in place with her fist in his hair as she attacks his mouth with teeth and deep, aggressive sweeps of her tongue until he feels like he’s going to drown. Fuck, he’s going to come in his trousers from this, he wants her so much he thinks he might choke on it, and when she finally releases his mouth he gasps for air, desperate and lightheaded.
“I need one more thing from you, my sweet, beautiful Lucían,” Glory says, taking his chin between her thumb and forefinger so she can force him to make eye contact. She’s flushed pink across her cheeks and nose, her lips already swollen and red from their kissing, but her eyes, Lord above, her pupils are so dilated they’re practically all black, and he distantly realizes that he feels like prey. “Focus,” she says, giving him a little shake with the hand in his hair, and Lucían takes a deep breath and tries to get himself vaguely under control. “Good boy.” Lucían can’t stop himself from shivering when she says that, and he knows she knows, but now he doesn’t care anymore because it’s not a secret. She’s still talking, though, and he drags his attention back to her. “Lucían, I need you to promise me that if I go too far, or if you don’t like something, or it hurts not in a good way, or if everything just gets to be too much and you need me to slow down or stop, you’ll tell me. Can you promise me that, my love?”
Lucían nods and Glory shakes him by the hair again. “Say it out loud,” she orders, and Lucían twitches bodily at the tone of command in her voice.
“I promise,” he says, out loud, his voice barely recognizable. It’s enough, though, because Glory beams down at him and gives him another kiss, this one gentle and sweet.
“Good boy,” she says, pulling away to lean her forehead against his. They breathe together like that for a moment, Lucían basking in her warmth and attention, and then she sits up, grabs him by the shoulder, and throws him to the ground as easily as if he was a piece of dirty laundry.
“Strip naked and put your hands on the wall,” the She-Wolf snarls at him, dark eyes hard and dangerous, and Lucían stares up at her from the floor, transfixed and a little terrified. “What are you waiting for? Move,” she snaps, and Lucían scrambles to his feet and staggers further into the room, shedding weapons, armor, and clothing with trembling hands. It’s quite possibly the fastest he’s ever undressed in his life, and he presses his hands to the open space of wall next to the bed and bows his head, trying to focus on something other than how fucking hard he is right now. He hears the She-Wolf stand and walk closer to him, metal and leather shifting as she moves, and he turns his head to get a look at her, to try and figure out what he should do next.
“No,” she says, grabbing his hair in her fist and roughly forcing it to face the wall again. “You don’t look anywhere else until I tell you to, Lucían, do you understand?”
“I understand,” he rasps out, barely a whisper, and she yanks on his hair, ignoring how he cries out in mixed pain (because hells, it does hurt) and pleasure (because it’s like his scalp is wired directly to his cock, and he feels it jolt and leak again).
“I didn’t hear you,” she hisses into his ear. “I asked you if you understood. Answer me.”
“Yes, She-Wolf,” he says, louder this time, his voice obscenely broken. It seems to be the right answer, because the She-Wolf releases his hair and strokes her hand gently down his back.
“Good boy,” she purrs, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I love how eager you are to please me. You’re going to do everything I say, aren’t you?”
Her hand comes to a rest on his hip, her thumb swiping back and forth along the jut of his sacrum, and he shudders as he says, “Yes, She-Wolf.” His cock twitches again. How is this so good when she’s barely touched him?
“Stay here,” she says, letting her fingers trail across his lower back as she steps away, and Lucían is left panting against the wall, straining his ears for any clues as to what awaits him. He hears the rustling of fabric, maybe on the bed? There are some soft sounds, probably from leather, and the clinking of metal against wood, so she’s likely to be taking off her weapons. That... is a good idea, though part of him is intrigued by the idea of her taking him with her swords still strapped to her back. Lucían risks a glance down at himself and has to bite a lip to stifle a groan at the sight of his cock, flushed dark and hard, jutting out uselessly into empty air.
“You didn’t move,” the She-Wolf says from right behind him, and Lucían startles, fingertips scraping against the wall. “That was very good,” she says, running a finger along his arm from his shoulder down to his hand, and Lucían has to smother another embarrassing sound. That finger slowly slides around to the inside of his wrist, traces small circles into the tender skin there, above the veins, and just when he relaxes a little, clamps down hard. She moves quickly, viciously, and before he can breathe the She-Wolf has his arm twisted up behind his back in a lock, her other arm wrapped around his waist, pinning the other forearm into his side. The metal of her armor bites into the bare skin of his lower back, and Lucían shudders so hard it jars the shoulder of the arm she’s locked up, and drops his head back against her chest with a whine. Any fight he had goes out of him in a hard rush, leaving him slumped in her grasp and utterly at her mercy. Fuck, he loves it.
“Good boy, you’re so ready for me, aren’t you?” she purrs in his ear as she drags him over to the bed and throws him face-down onto it before he can answer. “On your knees,” the She-Wolf orders and Lucían scrambles to obey. The blankets are turned down and she’s draped one of their towels over the sheet, so he centers himself on it, because if she’s put it here it’s for a reason. He settles his weight back over his heels, keeps his hands at his sides, and waits, muscles twitching in anticipation. The She-Wolf still hasn’t let him see her, and hasn’t told him if he can look, so he keeps his eyes forward.
“Hands behind your back,” the She-Wolf tells him, and he does as she says, feeling the mattress move as she climbs onto the bed behind him. When the first piece of soft leather wraps around his wrist he jolts like a startled horse, breath coming in gasps so loud they’re practically words. “Do you like that?” she asks in his ear, taking her sweet time as she wraps the leather around his other forearm, doing something complicated as she binds his arms together, wrists to elbows.
Lucían nods desperately, squeezing his eyes shut, and remembers that he needs to say it out loud so he wrings a “Yes, She-Wolf,” out of his throat. Her chuckle is low and rumbles like thunder, her hands gently skimming over his forearms, testing the bindings before she grabs them in one fist, the other gripping his hair, and forces him face-down on the bed. The metal of her armor bites into the skin of his back and ass as she bends over him, using the weight of her body in addition to her hands, and Lucían moans a sharp “Ah!” into the mattress. Her hands release him but she stays low, keeps him weighed down and pliant under her. Lucían tugs against his bonds instinctively, but nothing budges, it just pulls the leather bindings tighter, makes them dig into his skin a little, and fuck that sensation rolls down his back and skitters along his cock. It makes him whine and buck back a little into the She-Wolf’s hard body, scraping himself on her armor, and then that scrape lights up his nerves, too, and he leaks some more as his cock throbs, grinds back against her hips again, everything is so good and he can’t think and she hasn’t even touched his dick yet and he’s already breathing, “please, please She-Wolf, fuck, please” into the sheets.
“Stop moving,” she snaps, fisting one hand into his hair and pulling, and Lucían freezes, chest down, ass in the air, trembling, every muscle screaming at him for movement, for more. “I know you want my hand on your cock,” the She-Wolf says, and he practically sobs on his exhale, gods, yes, he wants that, “but I don’t think you’ve earned it yet. In fact,” she continues, sitting up and shifting so she’s no longer in contact with him, “I don’t know if you deserve my hand on your cock, pet, because you’ve been lying to me about what you want.”
Before he can comprehend the movement she’s dragged him across her lap, his toes barely in contact with the floor, blood rushing to his head as she bends him over her legs. Lucían opens his mouth to protest, or beg, but the She-Wolf’s hand smacks the meat of his ass, hard, and instead of words all that comes out is a yelp. It hurts, it does, but it also makes his eyes glaze over, makes his cock twitch where it’s ended up nestled into her bare thighs, and when she smacks him a second time he grinds into her skin and moans.
“Why have you been lying to me about this, Lucían?” she asks, smacking him again and tugging on his hair, lifting his head.
“I—ah!—I was afraid!” he blurts, words barely comprehensible through the sounds he makes every time her hand meets flesh. “I thought it was wrong,” he confesses, then moans low and urgently when she smacks his ass again on a place already hot and smarting from her blows. “I thought it was a sin.”
“So you were a fool.” Her hand comes down in one more firm strike and he chokes on his cry, nodding and aware that his hips are moving in sharp little jerks against her thighs.
“Yes, She-Wolf,” Lucían says, and instead of smacking him this time she pulls hard on his hair, arching his back and driving his cock harder against her.
“We could have been having so much fun, pet, if you’d been less foolish. Do you regret lying to me?” The She-Wolf drags her fingernails down his spine, too hard, and the sound Lucían makes is like nothing he’s ever heard come out of his mouth before.
“Yes, She-Wolf,” he manages, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for lying, I deserve this—uungh—” She smacks him again, on the thigh just below his ass, and his cock leaks a little rush of fluid onto her skin.
“This is what you get,” she snarls as her hand connects with the tender skin of his other thigh, “when you lie to me. This is your punishment.” Lucían is on fire, every time she strikes him his skin burns, swollen, with her touch. Her hand remains in his hair, pulling his neck back at a painful angle, his arms bound behind his back forcing a shoulder stretch he’ll feel for days.
She shifts a little under him and his cock slips into the tight space between her thighs, already wet with his leaked fluids. He thrusts into that cleft as much as he can as she beats him, distantly aware of someone saying “yes, fuck, please, I deserve it, oh fuck, please yes” and eventually figures out that it must be him. The She-Wolf pulls his hair again, hard and sweet against his scalp, and she smacks him on what must be a bruise and Lord it hurts so perfectly that Lucían yelps and surprises himself by coming, fast and harsh and desperately gasping as he empties himself into the softness of her thighs. Any remaining muscular control he was still clutching disappears, leaving his body along with his seed, and he goes limp in her grip, trembling uncontrollably, head only held aloft because she’s still gripping his hair.
The She-Wolf sighs and gives his head a bit of a shake before she drops it. “You came,” she says disdainfully. “I wasn’t done playing with you yet and you’ve gone and spoiled my fun by coming too early.” She drags her fingers across his back, gently this time, and Lucían whimpers, the weight of his head pulling toward the floor, soothing the ache in his neck while it simultaneously makes him lightheaded and dizzy.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps out, “I’m so sorry I came too early, I didn’t know—” his voice breaks when she smacks him on the ass. “I’m sorry, She-Wolf, please—” he keeps going, tugging his arms against the binding as he babbles, desperate to please her “—let me make it up to you, I’m sorry, please don’t be angry—” The She-Wolf smacks him again and his words trail off into something halfway between a scream and a moan.
“I don’t know if you’re capable of making it up to me,” the She-Wolf says, grabbing him by the shoulders and dragging him backward off of her lap. Lucían collapses to his knees, his legs refusing to support him, furiously tries to blink away the black spots in his vision. She laces one hand into his hair to help him stay upright, using the other to scrape the mess he made off of her thighs.
As his vision clears he realizes abruptly that while she still has on her corselet and his necklace, she’s otherwise naked, and as she shifts her legs he glimpses golden curls and the pink flash of her pussy. She wipes her sticky hand on his chest, making him shudder, and he manages, “Please, She-Wolf, let me try.”
“I didn’t ask you to speak,” she growls, dragging him to kneel directly in front of her. The She-Wolf bares her teeth at him, eyes feral and glinting in her pale face. Her gaze strikes him like a hammer, and his cock twitches again, starting to regain interest in the proceedings. “What should I do with such a disappointment?” she asks idly, smiling down at him, slow and dangerous, and Lord, she’s beautiful. He has just enough time to think that before she pinches his nipple sharply, and a, “Hnnaah—” escapes from his mouth as he arches his back into her touch, arms jerking at his bindings involuntarily.
“How do you think you can best apologize for coming too quickly, my pet?” she asks conversationally, releasing his nipple and petting the side of his neck.
“Anything you want, She-Wolf,” he says, willing to promise her the moon, to sacrifice himself for her and let her claim him as an offering.
“Anything I want, hmm?” She tilts her head thoughtfully. “What I want is to come. Do you want to make me come, Lucían?”
“Yes, She-Wolf,” he blurts, yanking at his bindings again. “Please let me, I’ll do whatever you waaaaaugh!” His words turn into another moan as she pinches his other nipple, and he shuts his eyes, thrashing his head in her grasp.
“I don’t know if you deserve that yet, pet,” the She-Wolf says, and he blinks his eyes back open, tries to focus on her though the haze of pleasure-pain singing in his bloodstream. Her head tilts, her mouth open enough that he can see her press her pink tongue against one canine before she flicks it out to wet her lips. “I think maybe you need to learn what I like first.” She spreads her legs, exposing her swollen, wet pussy, and Lucían knows he’s getting hard again. She drags him closer by the hair, until he can smell her arousal, and the She-Wolf curls her lip at him in a snarl as she slides her free hand between her legs, circles her clit once and then drives her two middle fingers into her cunt ruthlessly. “Are you paying attention, Lucían?” she asks, exhaling a moan as she fucks herself, close enough that he can practically taste her but far enough away that he has no chance of touching her.
“Yes, She-Wolf.” It’s impossible to tear his eyes away from the wet slide of her fingers, the way she bucks her hips into her hand, and Lucían wants to put his mouth on her, wants to be the one making her make those sounds, but he’s trapped instead and he hates it and he loves it. The She-Wolf hisses between her teeth, thighs shaking, and he risks a glance at her face. Her eyes are squeezed shut, teeth clenched around short little gasps as she works herself over, and finally tips over the edge, hips rocking against her fingers as she comes practically on his face. The hand between her legs doesn’t stop for some time more, until she’s done gasping for breath and mostly stopped shaking. The She-Wolf opens her green eyes again and grins slowly down at him. “I think perhaps you get a treat, my pet,” she says, pulling her hand away from her cunt. It’s practically dripping with her wetness, and she lowers her two middle fingers to his mouth, waits for his lips to part and then slides them inside. Lucían tongues her fingers, tastes her fluids, and shivers head to toe, muffling a moan around her hand. When he swallows he can feel her eyes on him, which makes the whole thing even fucking hotter, so he rolls his tongue around and between her fingers, chases down every last hint of her wetness until she finally pulls her hand back out of his mouth and leaves him breathless.
“I suppose you did well enough at that,” she says thoughtfully, examining her hand for a moment. Before he can blink she drags him to his feet and throws him backward onto the bed. Lucían lands with a gasp, his shoulders jarring with the impact, and she crawls on top of him with feral grace. The She-Wolf threads the fingers of one hand through his hair, grins down at him with a dangerous glint in her green eyes, and drops her pussy onto his mouth without another word. Lucían doesn’t have to be told even once what his job is, and licks hard directly into her center, rolls his tongue up until he finds her clit and keeps it there to trace circles around it fast and firm. Her hips grind down against him, little hitches back and forth as he keeps his tongue working, and he knows he has it right when her hand tightens in his hair and the She-Wolf starts to ride his face in earnest. “Don’t stop,” she orders, and past the curve of her stomach he can see her reach her other hand behind her hip. His tongue lashes against her fingers, and Lucían realizes she’s using her hand to fuck herself from behind even as she grinds on his face. Her thighs start to tremble again, so Lucían sucks on her clit, flicks it with the flat of his tongue, and the She-Wolf pins his head in place with her hand and ruts against his mouth, hard and fast and panting, until she finally moans, low and broken. She clamps her thighs around his face, body shuddering in hard jerks as she comes so hard she floods his chin with it. Lucían keeps going, drawing out her orgasm with practiced licks and sucks at her clit, doesn’t stop until she uses his hair to yank his face away from her cunt. He gasps for air, jaw aching, aware that his face is soaked in her from the nose-down, and the smell of her is everywhere, inescapable, which is when he realizes that his cock is painfully hard again. Will she sit on his face again or will she fuck him, he wonders hazily. Either option would be great, so he slumps bonelessly under her and waits for her orders.
“That was very good, Lucían,” the She-Wolf says, opening her eyes and crawling back down his body to straddle his midsection. “What a good boy you are, making me come like that. Did you like having me come on your face?”
“Yes, She-Wolf,” he says immediately, and she slides the fingers she fucked herself with into his mouth before he’s finished speaking and leaves them there for him to clean. “I know you did, my pet,” she tells him while he works his tongue around her fingers, “you’re so desperate to please me, aren’t you? So I’m going to tell you how you can keep being good for me.” Fuck, yes, please, he wants to know, so he nods, sucks on her fingers as she pushes them a little further into his mouth.
“I’m going to sit on your cock now, and I’m going to fuck myself on you, Lucían. You are going to lay there and take it and under no circumstances are you allowed to come until I give you permission. Do you understand?”
Her hand comes back out of his mouth, wipes the remains of her wetness off his face roughly, and Lucían exhales a shaky, “Yes, She-Wolf.”
“Good.” The She-Wolf pulls him more upright with a hand in his hair, shoving some pillows behind his shoulders, and when she releases him he realizes that the strain and stretch of his bound arms behind his back has lessened. She’s so thoughtful even as she’s punishing him, and a huge surge of love and affection rolls up inside of him, which snaps immediately over to wicked arousal as she takes his cock in hand. She lines herself up and sinks down on him in one smooth, relentless slide, and Lucían can’t stop a harsh sound as she takes him to the hilt, her cunt hot and wet and tight. She gives him no chance to collect himself, starts fucking herself on him immediately, one hand on her clit, and she leans forward, caging him in with her other hand and the bulk of her body. “Don’t come,” the She-Wolf hisses in his ear, then bites his neck and chuckles when he moans again. Lucían squeezes his eyes shut and tries to catch his breath without success.
The She-Wolf fucks him for what seems like forever, riding him right to the edge of his climax and then stopping. She watches him squirm and pant under her, bites his neck while he moans and begs, and then she does it again, over and over. He almost loses it when she comes on him, hand moving in frantic time with her hips, but she snaps “Don’t!” at him and he holds himself back, biting his lip so hard it almost bleeds as she fucks herself through her orgasm. Lucían holds his breath, fights to keep himself under control as her cunt spasms and clenches around his cock, and fuck he wants it so bad but he has to obey, has to be good for her—
“Very good, my pet,” she pants, settling back on his hips, his cock still angry and hard and throbbing inside her. “You’re going to keep being good, aren’t you?”
“Yes, She-Wolf,” Lucían whines, his voice cracking. He tugs at his bindings again, not even aware of it, and she pinches his nipple in punishment. It sears through him, a hot ache pulsing through his cock. He arches up off the bed, crying out in anguish and pleasure and he doesn’t know what else, and the She-Wolf laughs and starts to fuck him again. It’s torture, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and by the time she comes on him for a second time he’s sweating and thrashing his head back and forth on the pillows. Every breath is an audible sob, he’s so close, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding himself back from coming and Lucían’s incoherent now, a stream of “please, please She-Wolf, I’ve been good, please” falling out of his mouth against his will. He’s going to die if she keeps this up, and it will be the best death he could possibly ask for, but please—
“You’ve done very well, Lucían,” the She-Wolf says, leaning down and bracing herself on her elbows. She twines the fingers of one hand into his hair, tugs a little at a scalp already painful and oversensitive, and he stutters out a broken little moan, followed by a desperate “Please.” Her tongue drags up the side of his neck in a long, hot swipe, and she bites his earlobe.
“Please, She-Wolf, have I been good enough?” he asks, doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice, and hiccups a sob as she clenches her pussy around him.
“You have been good, my pet, you’ve been so good,” she tells him, pulling his head to the side so she can nip at his neck more easily, moving her hips on him again in hard, fast thrusts. “Come for me, Lucían,” the She-Wolf orders just before she bites his neck, right over a bruise she gave him, and he keens pathetically, shatters like a glass dropped onto stone, and comes so hard he nearly passes out. It goes on for a small eternity, his back arched up off the mattress and his breath coming in broken sobs as the force of his release tears through him, a dam breaking and sweeping him away in its wake. When he finally collapses he’s a blank slate, empty and fresh and scoured clean in spite of the objective fact that he’s sweaty, sticky, and covered in their mixed fluids. Lucían’s eyes close and he exhales a long, slow breath. When he opens them again Glory’s smiling down at him, her cheeks flushed and her forehead beaded with sweat. She bites her lower lip and leans down to kiss him, gently, so gently, before she pulls away and presses a quick kiss to his nose.
“You did so well, my love,” she tells him, kissing his forehead as she climbs off of him. “Stay here and let me take care of you, okay?” Glory leans down and kisses him again, leaves him with his eyes half-closed and his brain fuzzing happily. He can hear her moving around the room, and the sound of running water, but he doesn’t pay attention, just drifts on the afterglow of the most spectacular sex he’s ever had. At some point she returns, rolls him gently onto his side, and unbinds his arms. He’s aware of movement, and then she settles him on her lap in a room that smells like cedar and Lucían slowly realizes they’re in the bathing room. She scrubs him down, washes his hair and gently wipes his face clean with a damp cloth, and by the time he’s come back to himself properly the tub is half-full and Glory’s relaxing back against the wall of the tub, his back against her front and his head pillowed between her breasts.
“Have you come back to me, my sweet boy?” she asks, taking one of his hands and pulling it up to her mouth so she can kiss his knuckles. Lucían smiles, squirms around in her lap until his legs are across hers and he can wrap one arm behind her lower back. He settles his cheek back against her breast and presses a kiss to the swell of it.
“Just about,” he allows, peeking up at her through his eyelashes. Glory settles one broad hand on his hip and hands him a glass of cold water, which he drains and hands back, satisfied and giddy.
“Well,” she says after a long, contented moment where the only sound is the spigot continuing to fill the tub, “how are you feeling? Did I go too hard on you?” Lucían opens his mouth to tell her he’s fine and she squeezes his hip and adds, “Take a moment to consider it, please.” He shuts his mouth, furrows his brow, and actually does take the time to think. His ass is sore and bruised from her strikes. His scalp hurts, too, but will probably be fine by morning. He’ll definitely be feeling the stretch in his shoulders for a couple of days, but he’s looking forward to that, wants to hold that soreness as a tangible reminder of what they did tonight. Oh, and, also, he feels like he’s fucking floating, like the whole world is a wonderful dream, like he could climb a mountain without even trying or bless the whole city. He feels like she cut him open, dug all the guilt and misery out of his guts, and sewed him back up with magic inside. It’s the most indescribably wonderful thing he’s ever felt, so, conclusion: Absolutely worth it.
“I feel amazing,” he tells her honestly. “Sore. I might have some bruises tomorrow but I don’t care, I’ve never felt like this before, it was perfect.” He lifts his head, stretches up at her until she leans down and lets him kiss her, slow and sweet and warm. “Thank you, Glory,” he whispers against her lips. “This was... thank you.”
“Of course, my love,” she says, bringing up one hand, wet with bathwater, to cradle his cheek. “You’re welcome, now and forever.” She pulls him in for another kiss, and when she pulls away she grins and admits, “Honestly I was hoping you’d ask me sooner, I felt like I was dropping enough hints to encourage you.”
“Well, as we have previously established, I’m a fool,” Lucían says with a sigh, settling his head back against her breast as she shuts off the spigot, now that the water is up to his shoulders. The water is perfectly hot, soothing the sting of sore muscles, and he’s almost drifted off again when he processes the rest of her words. “Wait,” he says, lifting his head. “You were encouraging me? You knew?”
Glory chuckles and he feels it through his chest. “Lucían, my love,” she says, dropping an affectionate kiss onto the top of his head, “You are many things, but subtle is not one of them.”
“But—how, though?” Lucían considers being embarrassed but is too comfortable and well-fucked to really muster that emotional energy, so he’s left with curiosity, which takes much less effort to feel.
“Well,” Glory says, floating him off her lap so she can slide lower in the tub to get her shoulders under, and re-settling him straddling her waist so she can look him in the eye, “you’ve been blushing and getting erections when I intimidate you since day one, that was a pretty big clue.”
“Oh nooooo.” Lucían blushes, of course, and hides his face in her collarbone. “You could tell? I thought I was hiding them better than that.”
“It did take a little bit of deductive reasoning, but I figured out your tells pretty early.” He can hear the smile in her voice as she slides her fingers into his wet hair and very gently scratches his scalp. “There’s also the hair pulling and the biting. You’re very responsive to that, so it was another piece of evidence to support my case.”
“You like it when I bite you,” Lucían points out like that changes the truth of her statement, and she shrugs one shoulder, sending ripples through the bathwater.
“Yes, definitely,” she agrees, “but it isn’t a foolproof technique to make me come if I’m close the way it absolutely does for you. Besides, it’s just one piece of the evidence, don’t argue.” Lucían shuts his mouth on a rejoinder immediately, and Glory laughs and scratches his scalp again. “You also may have told me the first time we had sex that you have a strength kink, do you remember?”
Lucían blinks. “Wait. That’s—that’s part of this? Is that what that means?”
Glory nods cheerfully. “Yep,” she says, popping the P, and Lucían blushes again.
“I did not know that,” he admits. “I feel like you could have explained more.”
“Perhaps,” Glory admits, “but where’s the fun in that? Anyway, you also clearly have a praise kink, because you get off on it when I tell you what a good boy you are, and you follow every order I give like your life depends on it, another significant clue as to your predilections. Also, the other morning in bed you literally told me that you’re mine to do with as I wish and all you want in life is to serve me.” She takes his blushing face in her hands and drops kisses across it, brow, nose, mouth, cheekbone. “You provided all the evidence, my sweet, I merely assembled it and came to my inevitable conclusion.”
“Okay, I mean, you’re right,” Lucían says, trying not to squirm under the weight of her regard, “but doesn’t everyone like to be praised?”
“Sure, most people like a compliment, but not everyone gets off on it,” Glory says happily. “You absolutely do, and I love watching it, my beautiful, good boy.” Lucían shivers, watches her watch him shiver, shivers again, and then blushes harder and drops his face back to her collarbone. It’s both incredibly embarrassing and incredibly validating, the way she sees him so clearly, and he listens to the strong thud of her heartbeat as he drifts for a bit.
“So it’s not... it’s not weird, that I like these things?” he asks quietly, lips brushing her skin, and Glory squeezes him a bit, scratches his scalp again
“No weirder than anything else people like to do when they fuck,” she says, cheerfully blunt. “There are people who wouldn’t like it, or would find it actively unappealing, but there are also people who don’t like cheese.”
“Monsters,” Lucían interjects and she rewards him with a huff of laughter.
“Indeed,” she says, voice warm. “I liked doing it to you. Do you think that I’m weird for liking it? Or that it matters what other people think, as long as we both enjoyed ourselves?”
“No,” he says slowly, thoughtfully. “I guess not. I hadn’t thought of it like that.” He traces this thumb back and forth against her skin for a bit, mulling something over in the back of his mind. “When I asked you to do this, you seemed to know what I was talking about,” he says finally, “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Glory says, heat and affection in her voice. “Quite a bit, actually. Does that bother you?”
“No,” Lucían says immediately, and he can feel the truth of it. “Thank the Lord for that, actually, it meant one of us knew what they were doing.” Glory laughs under him and he kisses her collarbone. “Why do you like it?” he asks, curiosity prickling the nape of his neck. “I know why I do.”
“You mean because for twenty five years of your life you were trained to associate any sexual thoughts with shame, sin, and painful physical punishment, mixing those desires and experiences all up together? And furthermore, you were trained to follow orders and devote yourself to the desires and whims of someone else? And also I was the first woman you can remember seeing and you imprinted yourself on these biceps very specifically?” She drops this speech on him cheerfully, and it hits like a rock from a great height. Lucían blinks as several things slot themselves into place behind his eyes. Oh. Oh. Hm. Okay.
“I was going to say because it feels good and I hate being asked to make decisions,” he admits, “though those are several excellent points I will have to consider further. You didn’t answer my question.”
“Oh,” Glory says, rolling her shoulders under the hot water. “I’m what we like to call dominant. I enjoy being on top. I like being in control. I absolutely love seeing how much pleasure I can wring out my partner, and how much they want it, and how desperate they get for it.” She shivers and makes a sound not unlike a purr. “I also get to demand as many orgasms as I want, so it’s a win-win situation, really.” That gets a chuckle out of both of them, and Lucían lets that information percolate back into his mind for future review. They lapse back into silence, and he shuts his eyes, pressing his face a little closer into Glory’s neck.
“I love you,” he whispers, and spoils the romance of the moment by following it up with a huge yawn.
“I love you, too, my sweet, sleepy boy,” Glory tells him with a grin, and leans past him to uncork the drain. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
“Okay,” Lucían grumps at her, “but you fucked me too hard and now I can’t move, so you have to carry me.”
“Deal,” Glory says immediately, as she tucks one arm under his thighs and stands up easily. Lucían startles because he wasn’t actually expecting that to happen, and then shivers because it’s much colder out of the bathwater. He frowns up at Glory, who smiles at him innocently and steps out of the tub to get a towel. This is what he has now, he realizes as she dries him off. He has her, all of her, and she has all of him, no more secrets between them, and his heart swells so much he thinks he might burst from it.