“Undress, then kneel.” My words are sharp as I snap my fingers and point down, as if he were a dog.
His fingers tremble as he makes quick work of undressing, but then he hesitates for a moment. I quickly dart forward, smacking his ass. The sound echoes in the spacious bathroom, as does his shocked yelp.
“I won’t give you a second chance. You’re lucky I didn’t make it Legos.”
He immediately drops, wincing as the rice digs into his skin. As time passes, the discomfort will become more intense, bringing pain to the forefront. I’ve only had to use this method twice before, and I know it’s his least favorite punishment. Considering his actions? I'd say it’s fucking well deserved.
“Sir.” He bows his head, waiting for my next instruction. It’s such a beautiful sight, watching him take what I give him, even—no, especially—when he hates it.
I glance at my watch to check the time, but remain silent. Being a Dom is more than just physical. It’s mental too. And soon, Marcus’s inability to handle the quiet will break him more than the pain in his knees. His craving for acceptance is so deeply ingrained in him that I have to be careful he doesn’t overtax himself.
I curse his family to the fiery pits of Hell. It’s one of the few things Il Padrone has done right in his life, rescuing my love from death at their hands.
It only takes two minutes before Marcus tries to reposition himself, knocking the grains away from his knees. It’s too thick of a layer for it to make any difference immediately, but I snort at the obvious tactic. After the last time, I learned his tricks.
Going into the bedroom, I cross over to the closet, reaching for what’s hanging up on the wall. My hands close around the one flogger I own, and I take it out, stroking the oiled leather falls. I may not have been into impact play much before meeting Allesandro, but I’ve certainly learned to appreciate it.
I walk back to where Marcus is waiting, his bare ass and back a perfect sight when I enter the bathroom. I carefully position myself, before drawing the flogger back and hitting the globes of his ass. I chuckle when he curses, and I swing again, the falls leaving their marks. I keep up a steady momentum, loving the redness that spreads over his flesh. Each time he moves, I increase the intensity of the strikes.
“I can keep this up all day,” I say calmly, ignoring the sweat that begins to gather on my forehead. “Each time you move, it’s only going to get worse.”
Hissing, he suddenly becomes as still as a statue. I don’t stop immediately, wanting to see if he can hold it as I shift to his feet. I’m more cautious here, as him being unable to sit is one thing—unable to walk is another. Still, I mark him three times on the sole of each foot.
I stop and draw in a deep breath, rolling the tension from my shoulders. When he continues to hold his position, I pat the top of his head, before running my hand through his silky hair. Walking around to stand in front of him, I stare down at the man who brings me to my knees, even when he doesn’t know it.
“Good Boy. Now, I want you to tell me why you chose to ignore all common sense, put yourself and our Families at risk, and in general, make the dumbest fucking decision I’ve seen you make.”
“I…” Marcus raises his eyes to meet mine, and they're shiny with tears and regret. “I have no excuse. I didn’t think it through, and I know better. I’m very sorry. When Antonio begged me to take him, and told me he had news about Il Padrone, I gave in. It was wrong of me.”
Growling, because of course his best friend knew Il Padrone is his weak spot, I shake my head. “It was wrong. You are my love. And Carter’s. And you're the father to our son. If you were hurt—or worse—we wouldn't survive it. Our job includes risks, I know that. But we take the necessary measures to minimize those risks. You know this. This is your field.”
“I know,” he whispers, and a tear falls down his cheek, breaking the ice around my heart.
Sighing, I massage his scalp for a moment, and he leans into my hand. I step away and set the flogger down on the vanity before returning. I check the time, deciding he can wait a little longer. His body trembles from having to stay still, but he manages it. His eyes plead with me, but I refuse to give in.
Leaning down, I kiss him lightly on the lips, offering him my silent encouragement. Backing away, I observe him closely, wanting to make sure he’s not getting close to the edge. It’s just when he begins to waver that I hold up a hand and call it. “Time.”
With a shuddering breath, he leans forward, and I catch him around the shoulders. I gently push him back, managing to get his arm around me so I can help him to stand. He yelps at the movement, and I know that as much as he wants to get off his feet, we can’t rush it. Not when he needs to get his bearings.
Breathing with him, I wait until he’s able to stand on his own. Once he’s steady, I kneel and gently brush off the ricethat’s embedded in his skin, making sure it didn’t cause any damage. Once I’m satisfied I’ve managed to get rid of it all, I get up and lead him to the bedroom, guiding him to the bed. He immediately crawls up there, stretching out on his stomach so his ass and feet are toward me.
I open the nightstand drawer and pull out the cream we keep for bruising. I apply it liberally to where the flogger hit him. Then I slowly lift up each leg to make sure his knees are taken care of as well. Setting the bottle aside, I quickly undress before sliding into the bed. I turn onto my side, so that I can face him, and I gently stroke his back.
“I really am sorry,” he whispers.
I kiss his shoulder before rubbing his back again. “You’re forgiven. Everything is swept clean now. But know this…if you fuck up again, this will look like a damn spa day. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.” He adjusts himself so he can meet my hard gaze, and those brown eyes of his make me melt. It's a damn good thing that he doesn’t know exactly how much they can sway me.
“Good. Did you want to talk about anything?”
He shakes his head. “Later.”
Humming, I keep up the soft touches until he fully relaxes. Whatever he needs to talk about, I’ll be here. I always will, for him. He may put his trust in me to care for him, to correct him, and to give him support, but he’ll never truly understand how he brought me back to life.
Il Padrone may have saved his life, and hell, I know he respects Marcus, but when it comes to cherishing him? Nobody will ever cherish Tease more than I will. And maybe, just maybe, Carter too.
As Marcus drifts asleep, I wonder what it would be like to have both of them in bed with me. To command the two of them together. But, most of all, I want the moments we’ve alreadybeen having. The ones around Cole. Or just hanging out, the three of us.
