That utter display of submission had driven me to step over the line separating us, shred it apart and scatter the pieces off a cliff, asking the sea breeze to erase them from existence.
Because the line should never have been drawn in the first place.
“Answer me.” I tugged his waistband.
When I grabbed his throat once more, his pelvis twitched. His gulp was such an exquisite exhibition of the emotions warring inside him that I had to exercise all my self-control not to ravage him that instant.
Instead, I challenged, “What do you choose, Zion?”
26
ZION
All thoughts had deserted me. Or maybe they’d been eradicated by Gedeon’s question. His requirement to keep my hands off myself for the foreseeable future.
At minimum.
How was I supposed to endure the mornings if I awakened alone? Or the showers when I knew one of them was lying naked in our bed? Or when Kali trained with knives, fury and vengeance written across her features in bold letters? Or when Gedeon pitched his voice so low it would become a growl, so predatory and dark my mouth would go dry, my limbs wobbly, and all my blood would give up the power to him, for him to command and to drain?
Though the latter hadn’t reached the light of day. Yet. One of these early mornings, when the dawn was about to break, I was going to convince Gedeon to take my blood while I consumed his.
So if he wanted me to stop jerking off?
I could concede to that.
I’d simply fucktheminstead of my fist.
Good luck to their mouths, asses—because I was going to get into his too—and pussy, singular. Their five holes were going to take a beating in the following hours.
Days.
Weeks.
Months.
Years.
Gedeon snapped the waistband of my sweatpants. “Speak up.”
My abdominal muscles tensed—the slight sting had recalled how Gedeon had wielded those two floggers. How he’d showered me in pain, how I’d verged onfallingwithout him even touching me. The combination of his presence, the steady burn from the leather strips, and the blindfold had elevated the experience to the point where I’d debated whether I would survive it.
But when I’d endured, and he’d plastered his front to my back, his whispers ghosting across my sweat-streaked skin, I’d come so hard my lungs had imploded.
“Choose, Zion,” Gedeon pressed. Like Kali had once described it, pure night claimed his eyes, the black specks in his brown irises fueled by his yearning for dominance, his restraint fracturing. “Choose,” he repeated, “or I will pick for you. But be warned that I will not take the lack of decision lightly. I will use your own ropes to bind you for a lesson on consequences.”
His exhale mixed with my inhale, the air he passed into me warm and heady, drugging me together with his vow.
“Okay,” I yielded, failing to spread my legs. His knees had locked them in place on purpose.
I had grown so hard it ached, like all those years ago in the shower of Gedeon’s parents’ house, when I’d resorted to getting myself off to the image of Gedeon in the training rings. To how sweat would gleam on his broad shoulders. How the beads of perspiration would trickle down his bare torso.
My hips lifted in a quest for friction. When my crotch connected with Gedeon’s palm, the faint brush was enough for a shiver to skate down my spine.
Was it the years of distance he’d put between us, or something else, I had not a hunch, but seeing him want me drove me so utterly crazy; I craved to drown in the madness.
“‘Okay,’ what?” He reinforced his hold on the sides of my neck. “You have three seconds to state your choice.” His tongue tickled the spot behind my earlobe, and a shudder rocked through me. “One.” Circling my nipple, he flicked it. “Two.” Then tweaked it.
The jolt rushed down to my hips. My thighs jerked in hopes of widening as I chased my fleeting sanity to respond to him.
