Page 19

“So polite,” Orin remarked, enfolding Tiiran in his arms. “From that alone, I could tell you’ve been spending more time with your pup.” He held Tiiran to him so crushingly tight that most of Tiiran’s heated, squirming nerves left him. He relaxed, then exhaled slowly and rubbed his face against Orin’s gambeson.

“He is like a pup,” he murmured. “He isn’t. Yet he is .” Tiiran thought of the collars hunting dogs wore. “But I also have the nature of one of your ducklings, so I don’t understand how I’m to deal with him. He bought me dried cherries,” he revealed a moment later. “What am I to do with him? I don’t know how to court anyone, much less someone who makes remarks about,” he couldn’t say it now, not the whole thing, so admitted to only a fraction of it, “being mine. He would be better served by you. There’s nothing wrong with voicing it, no matter what either of you might say to that. Well, that is, I suspect I know what you would say to that. I don’t quite understand what he had to say about it.”

Orin seemed almost reluctantly amused. “You should ask him.”

“But I can’t without asking you,” Tiiran complained. “Because I am also yours—one of yours,” he added, lightning fast. “Again, I know I’m not special. It doesn’t even really bother me that you have other partners out there.” If that were solidly true, he probably wouldn’t growl through the words. “It’s only that I will never be as good as them. That is what bothers me. I’m frustrating to you. You’ve just returned. From danger!” Tiiran raised his head to make this clear. “You do important work and I am whining to you about cherries.”

Orin was smiling. That was oddly frightening too, in the not-terrible way that Orin excited Tiiran and worried him and pleased him.

“You’re asking my permission to court your handsome Nikoly,” Orin corrected. He looked Tiiran right in the eye and Tiiran snapped his mouth shut to stare mutely back. “Do you know why you’re asking me permission? Or why you wanted me to meet him?”

Tiiran shook his head, but that wouldn’t do; Orin required a real answer.

“I wanted to know if he was good.” Tiiran trusted Orin and Orin should know it. But the answer didn’t feel complete. “And if I could trust him?” he guessed.

Orin inclined his head slightly. “And?”

“And because…” Tiiran widened his eyes as he realized. “I said it already.”

A rumble. “Say it again. Say it properly.”

Tiiran put his shaking hands flat against Orin’s chest. He blinked several times, then wet his lips and said it, looking directly at Orin. “Because I’m your duckling.”

“Because you are mine,” Orin corrected him again, loud and rough.

Tiiran sagged against him with his head down. “I’ve never been anyone’s.”

Orin pressed between Tiiran’s shoulder blades, the pressure steadying. “That’s why I take this seriously. Why I’ve been slow. But we’re not going to stay slow anymore, are we, Tiiran?”

“Orin.” Tiiran’s mouth went dry as he looked up. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Orin smiled and cupped his cheek. “Oh, yes.”

Tiiran shivered. “Will I like it?”

“I believe so.” Orin swept his thumb back and forth. “But if you don’t, you are free to stop or leave. That is always true. Say it.”

Tiiran stared up, breath coming faster. “I am free to stop or leave.”

“Yes, Orin,” Orin prompted.

“Yes, Orin,” Tiiran echoed absently, then felt a frown form. “But, Orin…”

Orin gave the smallest shake of his head. “You brought your handsome young pup to me and then left us together. Testing me, Tiiran. Wondering if I would abandon you or hoping I would?” He banked his fire at whatever he saw in Tiiran’s expression. “Expecting me to,” he decided, petting Tiiran again. “I don’t blame you for it because I know you. But that was no way to treat him.”

“He likes you.” Tiiran tipped his cheek into Orin’s hand, faint to think of Nikoly doing this with Orin, fainter still to remember Nikoly doing it with him . “He could be yours. And he would be better than…”

Orin didn’t let him finish. “I think we need to address that point before we go any further.” He pushed Tiiran’s chin up until Tiiran had to stand on his toes. His tone was first thoughtful, then vicious. “My kitten thinks he isn’t special to me. That is incorrect. What is correct, Tiiran?”

Tiiran’s breath caught noisily in his throat. “I’m your kitten.”

It wasn’t enough. “The rest.”

Tiiran was on tiptoe. He flailed slightly and grabbed Orin’s shoulders to stay upright. Orin watched him do it with heavy eyes and didn’t help. Tiiran wet his mouth. “I’m special to you. Oh.” Once it was out, his knees gave way. He fell against Orin and was again enfolded in his warmth. “Orin.” He was weak and burning up, but not even slightly ill. Orin was so, so pleased with him that he had to duck his head. Oh . If this was how Nikoly felt with Tiiran, then Tiiran wanted him to feel it always.

Orin stroked the shell of his ear. “Are you ready or do you want to run?”

Tiiran was trembling. Orin likely felt it. “What if I do it wrong?”

“Oh, kitten.” Something pressed to the top of Tiiran’s head. Orin had kissed him, Tiiran realized and raised his head. Orin’s gaze was dark but hid nothing. “Remove your robe.”

Tiiran pulled in a breath. He stepped back, but shrugged out of his robe with some stumbling and put it on the table. He didn’t get a chance to hesitate over what to do next.

“The belt too.”

Tiiran stared at Orin helplessly, because no belt meant his pants would not stay up. Which Orin must know, obviously. Tiiran glanced behind him, but the entrance to the nook was unoccupied. Orin had an eye on it and anyway, Nikoly was downstairs guarding the second level for them.

A good boy.

Tiiran could do at least as well… probably. He stifled a growl and clenched his hands. “You don’t want me naked?”

Orin’s smile said Tiiran had done very well. “I told you we weren’t going slow anymore, not that I wouldn’t take care with you. But since you demanded it: remove the rest.”

With him watching. Tiiran hadn’t shared sleeping quarters with anyone for years, not since he’d first come to the library, and even then, nudity had been more about getting dressed than anything playful. At least, for him. He turned his head so he wouldn’t see any disappointment from Orin and removed his boots first, then his belt and pants. The air on his bare legs made him shiver and hesitate over his socks. But Orin hadn’t made exceptions, so those went too. His shirt last, since it covered most of him.

He had to fight not to cross his arms. He was scrawny, with muscles only good for going up and down stairs or carrying books. He had very little body hair unlike most men his age, he assumed from the fae blood. He had never had to shave his face.

He must look like what he was, a soft librarian with strange fae traits who failed to eat lunch and dinner far too often.

“And your hair.” The rasp more than the words nearly knocked him off his feet.

Tiiran wobbled, risking a glance at his… “What do I call you?” Nobles had keepers for their pets and working dogs, but Tiiran didn’t think there was any Master of Ducklings as there were Masters of Horses or Hounds.

“You call me Orin, little cat,” Orin answered, petting Tiiran without lifting a hand. “But you say it promptly and with respect. Anything else you want to call me is up to you as long as you obey.”

Obey should have rankled. Anyone else might have expected Tiiran to protest. A part of him did. The rest of him was reaching up to pull the pin from his hair. He let it fall to the floor, flinching at the sound it made.

But Orin smiled as if pleased by his jitters. He watched Tiiran shift his weight and move his useless arms and try not to think about his nakedness when it was all Tiiran could think about. Then Orin slowly stepped back, pulling out his usual chair and arranging the cushions before he sat.

“Now, come here.”

Tiiran bit his lip but went to him, stopping in front of Orin’s knees and then stepping between them when Orin arched an eyebrow.

“You’ve been so good for me so far,” Orin informed him while Tiiran flushed at the press of Orin’s knees around him. “You’re scared, but you’re here. Brave kitten.” He put his palm over Tiiran’s thundering heart. “You’re beautiful, and if you shake your head now or deny it, I will make my hits harder.”

Tiiran worked his jaw to keep himself from doing exactly that. “Yes, Orin,” he said, voice hitching when Orin dragged his hand lower, raising goosebumps over Tiiran’s ribs and stomach. “But I have no basis of comparison for how hard the hits will be.” Orin’s grin was brief and Tiiran let out a tiny, relieved breath to see the Orin he was more used to. “I’m not scared,” he added in case Orin noticed that, “not of you. But I am nervous. Very nervous.” He could admit it. Orin wanted him to. “Mostly of failing you.”

“You never could.” Orin’s tone went mean again. “A fact which it seems you need beat into you.”

A thrill shot down Tiiran’s back. His face heated more, then his neck and shoulders. Tiiran had been beaten before, usually by the sort of shit people who thought they were better than other servants and wanted to crush him. Orin wanted to lift him up.

Tiiran blew away a lock of hair so Orin would see all of his reddened face. “I want to be good for you as I’m not for anyone else.”

Orin squeezed his hip before answering in that heady rumble. “Over my knees. Face down. Brace yourself with the chair legs.”

From the way the fire in his eyes grew, he enjoyed Tiiran’s shocked gulp and last worried glance toward the entrance. He liked it more when Tiiran put his back to the door and then did as he’d been told.

It was… not comfortable. Tiiran’s arms were first stuck, pinned against Orin’s thigh while Tiiran wriggled, then dangling before him. He wrapped a hand around the chair leg to steady himself and focused on that and not his exposed backside or the shudders working through him the longer Orin went without speaking. Tiiran’s toes reached the floor but not enough for any sort of leverage. He could not fight back if he needed to. He could barely do more than wiggle. His backside was exposed to the air, and Orin’s gaze, and anyone who might walk in. He had put himself completely at Orin’s mercy.

He should have faced the nook entrance, he decided, far too late to do anything about it, and slid his other hand up to rub his palm anxiously over Orin’s upper thigh. It occurred him, also too late, that he didn’t exactly know what he was supposed to do, only that—from overheard ribald jokes and conversations—some people enjoyed this.

He supposed Orin did, and that Tiiran was pleasing him by submitting to it. But that wasn’t how Orin spoke of it.

“Is this all right?” Tiiran finally asked, breathless.

A light touch carried slowly along his spine, leaving shivers in its wake, before tracing the curves of his small bottom. Then Orin repeated the touch, once more and then again, pausing only to lay an arm across Tiiran’s waist to keep him still, which was when Tiiran realized he’d been squirming.

He had braced himself for a solid beating, not teasing brushes of Orin’s fingertips at his nape or down his side on the thin skin over his ribs, or a palm against the side of his ass. He squirmed again, shifting forward, and his cock brushed the fabric of Orin’s pants.

Orin caressed his shoulder blades, the small of his back where Tiiran’s backside began to round out, the flesh there, although not beyond that point. Tiiran shivered again and Orin sighed. “Nikoly needs to get you a soap that will be kinder to your skin. You deserve that.”

“Soap?” Tiiran wondered with absolute confusion, “Why should I deserve that?” and was unprepared for the force of Orin’s blow and how it pushed him forward. He gasped, hand clenching around the chair leg, his entire body trembling. Distantly, he knew Orin hadn’t hit him with his full strength; Tiiran had been smacked harder by a scullery worker in a bad mood and Orin was a larger, deadlier creature by far. But the shock of pain stopped him, then the blush-inducing memory of the sound of it in the nearly silent nook.

Nikoly had better keep others away for they would surely hear.

Heat replaced the pain within moments, and then the stinging tease of Orin stroking Tiiran where he had just hit. He should strike again, at least as much as Tiiran knew of these things, but he didn’t. Tiiran didn’t know if he was allowed to ask why. He could turn his head but not enough to see Orin’s face.

Meanwhile, Orin could see nearly all of him as well as feel Tiiran’s pathetic trembling. “I said,” he began evenly, only to shock Tiiran with another blow, harder. Tiiran gasped and wiggled and Orin held him tighter. “You need a soap that will be kinder to your skin.”

Tiiran made a small, weak noise and dropped his head. His backside was hot but the rest of him wasn’t much cooler. “I will…” he swallowed the spit pooling in his mouth, “I will ask Nikoly about soap?” He didn’t mean to make it a question and evidently it shouldn’t have been.

Orin hit him a third time, precisely where he’d struck Tiiran the first time. Tiiran’s toes slipped on the floor. He squeezed his eyes closed and bit his lip, but there was no controlling his body’s reaction. Orin would feel it.

Orin did feel it, rumbling with pleasure. “That’s what I thought.”

His purr, or whatever that incredible sound should have been called, set Tiiran wriggling again. “Orin,” he panted, pushing down until he realized Orin would also see the movement of his hips. “What do I do? What do you want me to do?”

“You take it.” Orin was mean. “You can’t do anything else, kitten. I have you. You’re mine now.”

Tiiran shook his head and shivered, then tried, and failed, to be still. “Yes, Orin.”

Orin struck him again, a new spot, where Tiiran had more plumpness to protect him. He stroked the hot flesh while Tiiran floundered for air. “Yes, what , kitten?”

Tiiran inched back, lightheaded at how easy it was to push himself into Orin’s hand. He stammered on the words despite that. “I’m… I’m yours, Orin. Yours. But what do I do?”

Then Orin petted him, as though Tiiran really was a cat in his lap. “You take it until you’ve learned your lesson. Tell me when you think you’ve had enough, and I’ll stop.”

Tiiran nearly swallowed his tongue. “Yes, Orin.” But , he wanted to say, to start to ask. Then Orin’s arm pressed him down to keep him still and Orin hit him, hard , once, then again, then again. This time, he didn’t stop.

Tiiran lurched forward with each one, grasping the chair leg, eyes closed, face hot, more spit forming in his mouth. He sucked in air and made a mess with his mouth open. His cries became moans though he tried to stop them. Orin alternated where he struck, one side and then the other, but it didn’t spare Tiiran any pain. His whole backside throbbed and burned and then Orin would strike again. Tiiran’s toes slipped from the floor again and Orin simply yanked him higher onto his lap and ordered him to be still and take it.

The reprimand made Tiiran sob more than the pain. He was hard, and he could not be still or quiet. He tried to at least say, “Yes, Orin,” but it was choked and wet. He didn’t think Orin heard.

The punishment was loud. Humiliating. They would hear Tiiran moaning downstairs, he was certain of it, if they could hear over the echoing crack of Orin’s palm against the meat of his backside, or the top of his quivering thighs. Tiiran was red hot, wriggling again, pushing up despite the slick tears and drool all over his face, and would have stammered out an apology if Orin had commanded it. Tiiran saw stars and still, he was hard and flushed and taking it.

As he’d been told to. The thought rushed through him like strong ale or a sleeping draught. All at once, Tiiran’s muscles loosened and the air left him. He pushed his palm against Orin’s steadying weight, and whimpered and squirmed, and still Orin struck him, starting fires and then hitting Tiiran again where he burned the hottest.

Tiiran kept his eyes shut, but tears escaped. His nose ran and he couldn’t care, rubbing himself against Orin with every shove forward.

“Orin!” It broke from him without any plan to speak, hoarse and low as if his throat was raw. “Orin, I’m sorry. Orin, please. Please.” Then he was up, with Orin’s arms around him and Orin urging him to hide against his throat while he sobbed. “I’m sorry. S… sorry, Orin. ‘M sorry. Please. I was good. Wasn’t I? I was good?”

“There now, kitten.” Orin’s voice was hoarse too, but soft as he curved his so-very-hot hand to the back of Tiiran’s head to help calm him. “You did so well.” He pressed a kiss to Tiiran’s hair and then another to his temple before urging Tiiran’s head up so he could see his face. Tiiran closed his eyes immediately as if that would hide his red, tear-streaked cheeks. Orin kissed those too until Tiiran looked at him, shuddering and lost.

“But I’m hard,” Tiiran confessed, dizzy enough to frown and then drop his head to Orin’s shoulder. “I moved. I was too loud?”

Orin slid his hands over Tiiran’s sides, continuing down to spread his fingers wide over the throbbing sting of Tiiran’s backside. Tiiran sucked in a pained breath, then moaned when Orin pressed in where it hurt the most. He curled tighter against Orin so he wouldn’t shake to pieces.

“Never. Never too loud. I knew you would like it, but you surprised even me. You were perfect.” Orin kissed his hair and hurt him and kissed him again. “All you have to do is tell me the rest,” he whispered, his breath as hot as the rest of him. “Why are you sorry?”

“I was afraid.” Tiiran rose up clumsily onto his knees to try get even closer. His knees slipped over Orin’s thighs and Orin held him still. Tiiran would never get away and just thinking it made him shudder. He put his mouth to Orin’s neck. “I wanted you so much but I didn’t want to be a joke to you. Orin… Orin, please .” Orin squeezed where Tiiran was so hot, pressing on aches so deep Tiiran imagined bruises in the shape of Orin’s hands. He cried out, shaking his head and scrabbling to get even closer when Orin tried to make him look up. “I didn’t know I was yours but I wanted to be. I was so scared that I hurt you. I never want to hurt you. Orin,” Tiiran was dripping tears and snot all over Orin and Orin held him and crooned. “I can’t stop crying and my cock is hard. I was trying to make you happy and now—”

A small smack to a tender area on the back of his upper thigh made him jolt then exhale shakily.

“Look at me.”

Tiiran raised his head.

Orin stared at him from very close, his gaze dark and hot. “I knew you would be like this. Beautiful,” he added, bringing up a hand to wipe some of the tears from the corner of Tiiran’s eyes. “So strong that it took this much to break you, and that only because you allowed me to. You trusted me.” He lowered his hand between them, wet fingers leaving a trail down Tiiran’s chest. “Look at you, eyes black and mouth red from your teeth. You say my name so sweetly I nearly kept going. You could finish from that, couldn’t you? Mindless and lost to feeling. Poor kitten never allowing himself to feel. Pleasure or pain, you ignore them both. Not anymore. Not for me.”

He closed a fist around Tiiran’s cock and watched Tiiran try to keep his fluttering eyes open.

“Orin.” Tiiran panted softly, licking his sore bottom lip.

“Are you going to run from me again?” Orin demanded, hand moving slowly up, then down. Dazed, Tiiran stared back at him and shook his head. Orin’s grip was tight and hot. His hand was so big. Tiiran whined and then whined again at Orin’s mean smile. “Why not?”

“Orin!” Tiiran hitched his hips to try to make Orin stroke him. He couldn’t think enough to stop himself and Orin only enjoyed his struggling. Tiiran could squirm for hours and it would mean nothing unless Orin wanted him to finish. And Tiiran wanted to finish so much, more than he ever had even when pleasuring himself. He wanted to spill by Orin’s hand and make him smile and his gaze burn. He shivered to a stop and closed his eyes to gasp when Orin smacked his backside, a bruise on a bruise that flared hot and sweet. Tiiran’s cock jumped in Orin’s hand. The world was lit and bright and Orin’s attention was solely on him.

This was not punishment. “Because I am yours, Orin. Your kitten.”

“And I give you what you want,” Orin moved a hand to the center of Tiiran’s back to urge him close, his other hand sliding faster over Tiiran’s cock. “Because you deserve it. Say it.”

“Orin.” Tiiran was a shaking, white-hot mess who hardly knew what he was saying, only that he couldn’t stop saying it. “Yes, Orin. Please . I want you so much. Orin, please. Yes. Yes, Orin. I’m yours, only please . Please. Please, Orin.”