Lucien, too, was part of the package when Zander had taken on Alaska, but the truth of the matter was that they’d never find someone else who could handle the entire event as well as Lucien. He had a dozen underlings who dealt with most of the detail work, but Lucien made it all run like clockwork, so other than making the big decisions, Zander only had to step in as Master of Ceremonies and pretend to run everything.
And now, Spence got his reward for keeping Lucien mostly out of the coterie house.
He stood facing the bed, stripped down to nothing, and kept his posture open. Hands relaxed at his sides. Feet planted. Heart already beating harder from the knowledge of what was coming.
There was a pause when Zander entered, then footsteps closer, and the unmistakable swish of the belt sliding free from the loops of Zander’s pants.
Spence breathed in and scented his own arousal as well as that of his Master’s. He exhaled slowly through his nose, grounding himself.
Zander’s voice came soft behind him. “You gave away almost a half-million dollars’ worth of discounts.”
“Technically, Sir, I only gave away two hundred and eighty K. The rest is a wash — slaves who only need minimal supervision are worth the discount given for them.”
Another pause. “So they are.”
A cool hand caressed over his shoulder, down his back, and cupped his ass. He stepped away, and Spence missed his touch. His aura. His energy.
“It’s a lot of responsibility,” Zander said, “knowing your words carry the same weight as mine, but you manage it well. I love you Dearest, but more than that, I’m not sure what I’d do without you. I’d been dreading having to deal with Lucien underfoot for the five weeks he’ll be here, having to listen to him and Kendra sniping at each other, hoping I could keep it from going farther, and you’ve sent Kendra off for a three week visit to Fairbanks, followed by a one-week trip to Alfheim with Kirsten, so we’ll only have the two of them in the same city for a week.”
“I did, Sir.”
“And best of all, he’ll be offsite the majority of the time, so I won’t have to deal with him outside of meetings. You are indeed a good boy. The best. Bend over the bed, Dearest. Arms in reverse prayer.”
Spence obeyed, and braced.
The first strike landed like a kiss from a god, stealing the breath from his lungs and lighting his skin on fire. Pain bloomed out from the line of heat, and a second hit chased it before the first could settle. Then a third, the edge of the belt curling around to bite at the front of a hip.
A small noise escaped, but he didn’t move.
Zander struck with methodical precision, each lash directed with purpose. Some on his thighs. Some on his ass. And randomly, some wrapping to the sides, devilishly angled for maximum pain, because Zander didn’t make mistakes with a belt. If it wrapped, it was supposed to.
His spine arched of its own volition, ribs straining against the pressure in his chest, breath caught between scream and surrender. His knees wobbled, but he stayed upright because this was what he craved. The pain, the attention, the mastery. Every blow from the belt was a statement:You’re mine. You did well. Now take what you’ve earned.
And then the belt snapped across the top of his thigh and targeted a testicle. Spence screamed and lifted a single leg, but settled it back down quickly, and his body stayed put.
His entire body shook, his knees threatened to fold, but he stood in place and kept his arms in reverse prayer despite the strain.
Another dozen lashes, harder and faster than the others, and then the belt dropped to the floor along with pants and shirt.
Spence groaned when Zander’s cock speared him, a single thrust that buried him to the hilt, and then he felt a hand on his right upper arm. “Out to the side, Dearest.”
He unwound his arms, held them out to the side as directed, and then the ancient vampire he loved leaned over andstruck.
Fangs into his neck without anesthetic, deep into the muscle between Spence’s neck and shoulder.
Spence’s chest rose and fell like he’d run ten miles. His skin was on fire. His cockached.
This wasn’t gentle drinking. It was brutal, primal, a piercing so deep and sharp it felt like Zander was tapping the soul beneath the flesh, biting into something not meant to be touched. Cold fangs pierced deep, deeper, and then came the burn, a pulse of pain so hot it roared white behind Spence’s eyes.
His orgasm hit like a thunderclap to the spine, pleasure detonating through muscle and marrow, a shockwave that shattered thought and language. He lost his breath, forgot his name, his shape — reduced to electric heat and flickering vision, to colors that had no business existing. Ultraviolet pain streaked with gold, bruised violet bliss spiked with the coppery tang of surrender.
Permission.
The single word telepathed from mind to mind let his balls release, and Spence’s body seized and bucked, tears leaking from his eyes without shame or sound. His prostate throbbed like a second heart. His cock jerked again, again, soaking the blankets beneath him while Zander’s weight kept him pinned.
When Zander had drunk his fill, he licked the holes and then lifted Spence the rest of the way onto the bed and laid him out like a feast, a naked offering, wrecked and open. Humbling missionary with eye contact.
He entered him again, folding Spence in half, pressing their bodies together so skin stuck to skin. Zander fucked him with the kind of ruthless precision only an apexpredator with unfathomable skill and power could manage — a rhythm so deep, so merciless, it stripped Spence of the ability to think.
