Page 6 of Bottoms Up (Mythic Beast #4)

Julian

Life came slamming back into me, and I sucked air in despite the fact I don’t need it.

I immediately sent my senses out, and was relieved when I came across Silver’s brain, completely immersed in a video game.

I’d been so worried about her. Kirsten had assured me Mordecai would keep her safe, but still.

You’re up! Her voice came into my head clear as a bell, and I smiled at the affection in it. After her rebuff the night before, relief flowed through me, tension uncoiling in my chest when I hadn’t realized it was there.

I am. I can’t wait to hear about your time with Mordecai. I’m so relieved you’re back and safe.

He took me to a jeweler in Italy, but I don’t think he wants me talking too much about what we did just yet.

Okay. I’m hoping it fixed the situation?

It may or may not have fixed part of the situation, but probably not the whole thing.

I realized she’d saved her game and was walking to me, so I got out of my hidey-hole.

My bedroom has moved, so I’m in a section of the underground Silver can come to. Also, I have a suite now and not just a bedroom.

It’s been a while since you fed from me , she reminded me. Like I could possibly forget the plan had been for me to feed from her after the Grammys. A full feeding, not a taste. The kind that leaves me sated and alive with the energy of her aura, her life force — not to mention her lust.

My Silver marks it on her calendar every time I drink fully from her, so she knows the next date it can happen again. She’s also started working out more, so she builds her blood back faster.

She stripped before she came into the bedroom and walked in bare and unashamed. Casual. A graceful drop to her knees, not a seduction but an offering. Submitting to whatever happened within the walls of this room. Head bowed, hands loose on her thighs.

Our current arrangement is simple: she submits to me in this space, and nowhere else.

My mouth watered at the sight of her. Venom welled instinctively, tingling behind my gums — not from hunger, but from anticipation.

Her scent was neutral today, as were her clothes — before she shed them.

Neither male nor female, and yet, plenty of both.

A perfect equilibrium. I think Silver is happiest when Silver doesn’t have to decide.

Sometimes she dresses to emphasize one side or the other, but when she walks into my space like this, fluid and centered, I value her trust.

“Okay, my Grammy Award–winning guitar player. Bend over the bed while I decide whether you need the belt or cane today. Legs together to start.”

The second I said it, I knew it would be the belt. The cane increases stress levels while the belt seems to do the opposite. She’d had enough stress in the past days to last a lifetime.

When Silver is neutral, I tend to still think of her as she .

It’s like, my brain insisted I pick one, so I did.

Mostly, I think it’s because she has a cunt.

I mean, sure, she has a dick too, but I don’t make much use of it once we get beyond foreplay.

She has holes my dick conveniently fits into for sex, so I guess it makes sense that, in my head, I tend to think of her as she rather than he .

A whole lot of languages don’t differentiate between genders with their pronouns.

English does, however, so I’d work with it as best I could.

But none of that mattered in this moment, because her scent told me she was waiting for pain, waiting to be filled, and most of all, waiting for my fangs to sink into her so I could drink of her essence.

Her blood was humming for me.

* * * *

Silver

I used to think it was the submission I was attracted to, and the pain just came with the territory, but with Julian, I don’t just crave the surrender, I need the pain, the way it roots into my body, anchoring into the nerves, shocking the pain sensors until I think I might fly apart.

The first stripe landed sharp on my ass, fire and bite, leather embossing skin — the strike and then the slide of it carving his claim onto me. The second cracked across bare flesh before I’d come to terms with the first. Heat and intensity poured like liquid fire across my cheeks.

The next was on the backs of my thighs, and I nearly pushed forward on the bed, up and away, but I managed to stay in place.

What I hadn’t known back when I wasn’t comfortable with bondage yet, was that Julian can use his magic to freeze me so I can’t move. He doesn’t need ropes or chains.

But he expects me to be still for a belting, his obedient little Silver, accepting whatever he gives me, so I’d do my best to stay in place.

“A few more,” he told me, his voice a satin command. “You know I like to properly season my meals. Put your arms out to the sides. Tell me, would you like for me to freeze you and give you fifty more, or do you think you can handle twenty-five more while free?”

Fifty with a belt would destroy my ass, but it’s so much easier to take this level of pain when you absolutely can’t move — when you can relax into it rather than fight to remain in place.

“Freeze me please, Sir.”

“As you wish, il tesoro .”

The words curled through me like warm honey as the belt cracked down again. And again, raining down fire and pain. Over and over. Lash after lash. Pain, rhythmic and precise. He worked from the top of my ass downward, inch by agonizing inch, branding me with his dominance, his hunger, his love.

Long before he got to the backs of my knees, he traveled back up at the same slow, steady, excruciating pace. I screamed and tried to writhe and move, but he’d frozen my body in place so there was no moving around. No escape.

When he finally stopped, I was a mess — tear-stained face, snot flowing from my nose, fighting for air between my sobs. Raw, gutted, and flying high on endorphins.

“You mark up so pretty.” The coolness of his hand caressed my heated ass, and my sobs came harder and faster, but I didn’t pull away. I needed the contact. Needed him .

“What should I torture next? Ass? Cunt? Dick? Tits?” His tone was warm honey edged in steel. “Everything’s getting it today, amore mio .”

God, the way he said it, possessive and reverent in the same breath, made my blazing skin hum. I’d had to learn all these Italian terms of endearment. This one meant my love , but others meant things like my treasure or my heart .

And then there were the words that didn’t translate easily, like piccolo , which means little or tiny if you look it up in the dictionary, but it’s more like calling your girlfriend baby when used as an endearment.

Same as cucciolo , which means puppy or cub, but it’s more about his caring about me and wanting to protect me than it is about calling me an animal.

“My body is yours,” I whispered, eyes closed. “Whatever pleases my Sir.”

Which translates to stop talking and just pick a body part so we can get back to the action , but never would I actually say that. Our relationship is about submission and respect, the real thing. I’d never disrespect him during a scene.

“Well then, we’ll do the outside bits and work our way to the center.” His cool hand brushed my hip. “Pull the round bolster down, so it can push those lovely tits into the air to be properly chastised.”

The bolster was near the top of the bed, so when Julian released me to let me move, I walked to the side of the bed.

My limbs felt shaky, so I moved with care, sliding off the bed, stepping toward the top to pull the bolster down, and then climbing onto the mattress again, bending over the bolster backward.

The firm round cushion arched my back, pushed my chest high, my nipples pointing to the ceiling, and I lay there waiting — open, vulnerable, offering myself to him.

My pain, my submission, my love, my affection.

Because always with my Julian, pain equals affection .

Julian disappeared into the bathroom while I followed his order, and I heard water running. He returned with a warm, damp cloth and leaned over me to clean my face — gentle swipes over my cheeks, beneath my nose, under my eyes.

“ Amore mio bellissimo, la mia stellina . Such lovely tits, just waiting for me to turn them red.”

He’d called me his beautiful love and his little starlet, and those were possibly two of my favorite Italian phrases.

“ Ti amo , Julian.”

“ Ti amo , Jules. Ti adoro .”

And then, sadistic romantic that he is, my love grasped my left nipple between his fingers and rolled it slow, squeezing it into a tight, aching point. Pain sparked down my spine, stealing my breath. He hadn’t told me what to do with my hands, so I slid them behind my back.

He leaned in and kissed my forehead, lips soft, a tender touch, before pulling back and — lifting a flogger with an almost ceremonial calm — he let it fly.

The tails were all sting and little thud, back and forth, right to left, fast and brutal, a sharp, biting rhythm across my chest. He’d said he wanted my tits red, and fuck if this wasn’t going to deliver.

The sting was intense, but this kind of flogging has always come off as a purely pleasurable sensation, the kind that made my toes curl and my breath go ragged. An exquisite overload.

I let myself go limp over the bolster, every muscle surrendered, letting the sensations wash over me. Heat bloomed under each lash, sparks danced across my skin. It was almost meditative. Almost .

Until a tail licked across my nipple.

I gasped, hips jerking, pleasure twisting tight around pain, and still, he didn’t pause. Another strike, another. My whole body buzzed.

When he finally stopped, I blinked my eyes open — and saw nipple clamps. Wires. My brain connected the dots just a beat too late.

The first jolt hit and I screamed. Logically, I know the TENS is safe, even over the heart — e-stim clamps on the nipples — but my brain short-circuited along with everything else, and a raw, startled scream ripped from my throat and filled the room.