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That time, I did… telling him things until I lost track of my own words.

Sometime after that, he let out a low groan.

He shifted his weight to one side, fighting with his belt.

I felt his want, a hard, almost violent desire to fuck, even though some of my words hurt him. Or maybe it was partly because of that. He wanted to fuck me before I stopped talking, to put his ear by my mouth while he coaxed me into taking my anger and frustration out on him in other ways. Images came with that, more detailed than usual, and not just a few gentle slaps.

I saw myself hitting him, and not only with my fists, but with his belt.

I had my hand on him somewhere in that.

Gasping as I massaged him there, he stopped undressing long enough to hold my hand on his cock.

“You really want me to hurt you?” I asked.

“No.” He shook his head, gripping my wrist.“Gaos.Yes. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

Something in his light shifted.

I felt conflict, hesitation, more pain as he tried to decide how much to say. I felt that wall in his heart. I felt him thinking about it, knowing it was there. Something about him admitting to that, consciously or not, brought my frustration back in a wave.

When he felt my aggression, his pain worsened.

Then something clicked.

Once it had, I was staring at him.

“Youknowyou’re holding back with me?” I said, incredulous. “You want me to beat you up, to get you to stop it?”

He met my gaze. That heat remained in his eyes.

“You are seriously fucked up, you know that?” I asked.

“You knew that when you married me. Well,” he amended, thinking. “…The second time you married me.”

I stared at him, trying to wrap my mind around what he was telling me. He wanted me to understand this about him. The request may not have been fully premeditated, but it also hadn’t just “slipped out.” He’d been nervous to ask, nervous about how I might react. But he wanted me to know this. He wanted me to know that getting people to hurt him is how he’d dealt with his light being closed in the past.

I turned over everything he’d said, trying to view it objectively.

My pain worsened when he starting putting light into his fingers again.

“You’re not doing a good job, if you’re trying to convince me not to do this again,” he said, going back to unfastening his pants.

“Convince you not to do what again?” I retorted. “Chain me to the wall like your pet?”

I slid my hand inside his clothes.

His eyes closed. He shifted closer, giving me more access to him.

When I started pulling on him from that other place, using structures I’d developed working as a consort for the Lao Hu, his fingers clamped around my wrist. I felt him fighting me seconds later, trying to wrestle control back from my light, but I’d gotten past his defenses. I could feel more of him again, and not only the parts of him that wanted sex.

For a long-feeling few minutes, he fought my hold on him.

Even so, I felt the difference in his body already. He rested more of his weight on his back, leaning against me. His hand wrapped around my waist when I didn’t release the structures in his light. The submission felt willing that time. I felt it turning him on.

I couldn’t read him worth a damn though, even now.