Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
"That's it," he murmurs. "Take it. Take everything you need from me."
So I do.
I ride him like I'm trying to chase away every moment of doubt, every second of fear, every question about whether this is wrong or right or completely fucking insane. I ride him until my thighs are burning and my breath is coming in ragged gasps.
Giovanni's hands slide up my body, cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples in a touch that's somehow both possessive and reverent.
"You're mine," he says, and it's not a question. "Say it."
"I'm yours," I gasp.
"Again."
"I'm yours, my King."
"Louder."
"I'm yours!" I'm close now, so close, my body coiling tighter and tighter. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours—"
The orgasm hits me like a freight train. I bite down on Giovanni's shoulder—hard enough to leave marks—to muffle the scream that tries to rip out of my throat. My entire body convulses, writhing and whimpering as pleasure crashes through me in devastating waves.
Giovanni holds me through it, one hand fisted in my hair, the other splayed across my lower back, keeping me pressed tight against him.
When I finally go limp, trembling and gasping, he shifts us carefully. Pulls me more fully into his lap, arranging my legs so I'm kneeling on the spaces between his legs and the chair, comfortable enough to curl against his chest as my body continues to shudder with aftershocks.
His cock is still inside me. Still hard.
But he doesn't move. Doesn't chase his own release.
He just holds me.
Pets my hair with long, soothing strokes.
Lets me breathe.
"I'm afraid of it," Giovanni says quietly, after what feels like an eternity of silence.
I don't ask what he means. I already know.
"The monster," he continues, his voice rough. "I'm afraid of what it wants to do to you. What it will do to you if I let it."
His hand keeps stroking my hair. Gentle. Almost tender.
"Jino can stay."
The words hit me like a blow.
Because I understand now. Finally, fully understand.
Giovanni is more terrified of being alone with his own darkness than he is jealous of Jino. He’s more worried about what might happen to me if there's no one there to pull him back from the edge.
He doesn't want to hurt me.
And Jino is staying to make sure he never does.
I shift in his lap, just enough to look up at his face. His eyes are closed, his expression almost peaceful except for the tightness around his mouth.
The words rise up in my throat, completing themselves without conscious thought. One more stanza. One more offering to this complicated, broken, beautiful King.
"The monster needs a master of its own," I recite softly.
Giovanni's eyes open, finding mine.
"A keeper who can hold the leash when I
Cannot. Who'll guard me from what goes unknown."
His hand stills in my hair.
"So let the Master stay. Let three, not two
Complete this twisted prayer. Let darkness learn
That even monsters need their keepers true."
Silence falls again. But this time it's different. Softer.
Giovanni's thumb brushes across my cheek, wiping away tears I didn't realize were still falling. Then, barely a whisper, he says, "And in this dungeon deep, our souls will burn."
Our faces are inches apart. His cock still buried inside me. His arms wrapped around my broken, willing body.
And in this moment—kneeling on his throne, held by my King, claimed by his monster, protected by his cousin—I’m exactly where I belong.
His game, his rules.
EPILOGUE
I'm gasping for air, but not because I'm drowning—because I'm finally learning how to breathe.
Position Gamma. Back against the pillar, wrists cuffed behind it, spine pressed into unforgiving wood. The honey-oak beam that has become more familiar to me than my own reflection. My shoulders scream from being pulled back for—I don't even know how long. An hour? Two? Time disintegrates when you're bound to a pillar reciting poetry.
"The frozen leaves that scatter in the fall," I whisper, the words barely audible even to me, "Remind me of the fragments I let go."
My voice cracks on the last syllable. Sweat or tears—does it even matter which?—slide between my breasts, tracing the curve of my ribs.
"Each piece of self surrendered at your call,"
Jino circles me, his leather boots making soft sounds against the stone floor. The gentle predator. The professional destroyer.
"Swept up like autumn's mercy, row by row."
"Beautiful," Jino murmurs, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate against my skin even though he isn't touching me. "The meter is perfect. The imagery...exquisite."
I keep going, lost in the rhythm of terza rima, in the hypnotic structure that forces my brain to stay focused even as my body shatters.
"For what is fall but summer's slow release?"
What is submission but a soul's respite?
I shed the burden of my own caprice."
Jino steps closer. I can smell him now—leather and sandalwood and that hint of something darker. Male. Dominant. Mine? No. Not mine. I am his. There's a difference.