Page 19

19

Icarus

I thought I’d experienced something resembling power while playing bedroom games with Aeaea’s most influential people. It’s nothing compared to the feeling filling me now, with Poseidon standing over me, his heart in his amber eyes. Little tremors work their way through his body. I need to get him on his back soon, before he collapses.

I wish I had a whole dungeon’s worth of toys to use on him. I want silk sheets, enough lube to drown in, and nothing but time. I don’t have any of it.

Speaking of… “Do you have lube and condoms here?”

He swallows visibly. “Yes. Nightstand.”

I stroke my thumb up the underside of his cock. “If I tell you to get ready for me, do you know what I’m asking?”

Another of those surprisingly sweet swallows. He’s so nervous, I’d think he was a virgin if I didn’t know any better. But he essentially is, isn’t he? He’s never had me before. Never played games of pain and kink. The realization kindles something hot and fierce in my chest. I don’t understand it, so I tuck the feeling away to examine later.

“I know what you mean.”

I push to my feet, my knees creaking a little. The carpet is thin in the apartment, the floor probably concrete beneath it. Definitely not made for kneeling for any length of time—something to keep in mind for Poseidon. He doesn’t move as I lean in and capture his bottom lip between my teeth. I bite down, drinking in his groan of pleasure. It’s all too tempting to keep going, to kiss him and drag him to bed, to forget what I promised him and revert back to my default as a selfish lover.

It’s strange that I don’t want to. I kiss him quickly and make myself step back. “Good. Go handle that.”

He seems a little dazed as he turns toward the bathroom, wobbling a little with each step. I lick my lips at his bubble ass. We’re racing the sun—we might have all night, but sunrise will come too soon. I don’t move until the bathroom door closes.

Only then do I exhale and drag a shaky hand through my hair. I’m somewhat limited on what I can accomplish for him without toys, but all that does is allow for delicious inventiveness. I pace from one side of the room to the other three times before I realize what’s driving the frenetic movement.

Nerves. I’m fucking nervous .

Last night was different. There was no time to worry that I might do something wrong, that I might disappoint him somehow. But for all that it was absolutely a full scene, it was a short one. Tonight, he’s looking for something more involved. I’m looking to give it to him.

I turn and study the bed. It has a simple headboard that looks a little too much like I imagine a jail cell would look—metal, square frame. I’ll make it work. I don’t have anything safe to bind him with, so I’ll make him bind himself. That’s a fun little head fuck.

As for the rest, I’ll play it by ear and adjust accordingly.

My stomach flutters. I ignore it. Poseidon has nothing to compare this to. I just need to get him off harder than he’s ever come before. Easy. Sure. I veer around to pull the bottle of lube and the box of condoms—both unopened—from the nightstand.

The bathroom door eases open and Poseidon steps back into the room. His entire body is flushed a cute pink that makes me want to redden his ass even further. He actually shuffles his feet. “I’m, ah, I’m good.”

My heart lodges in my throat. It’s tight and hot and I can barely speak past it. “Come here.”

He pads across the room to me. With each of his long strides, my nerves settle even further. How could I possibly fuck this up when I have him in my bed? I press my hand to the center of his chest, stopping him before he makes contact.

Instantly, he goes still. The sensation of power fills me once more. It only grows as I back him to the bed and urge him to sit on it. He’s completely unresisting, his gaze intense on my face. Anticipating my next order, verbal or otherwise.

There’s a calculated way to go about things, but all my plans fly right out the window as I step between his thick thighs. I pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the side. My pants need to stay on for now, a reminder to go at a proper pace. I straddle him and smother the surprised sound he makes with my mouth. Fuck, he really does taste good. The best thing I’ve ever had on my tongue.

His hands land on my hips, but I pull back enough to say, “Hands on the bed. Don’t move them.”

“ Icarus .” My name is a plea on his lips. I fucking love it.

“You want to be my good boy, don’t you?” I gently bite his bottom lip, purposefully keeping the contact just shy of painful. “You want to please me.”

He shivers. “Yes.”

“Then keep your hands on the bed.” I barely wait for him to obey before I’m kissing him again, claiming his mouth as if I have any fucking right to it. As if I’m not setting us both up for heartbreak. I shift closer, grinding my cock against his. The jeans are too thick a barrier. It’s almost painful for me and it damn well better be painful for him, but he just moans and sucks on my tongue. More and more and more, until I have to jerk away from him to prevent the pleasure from getting the best of me.

I stand on shaking legs and strive to get the dominance back in my voice, the snap of command instead of wanton need. “Bend over the bed.”

Poseidon blinks a few times. It eases something deep inside me that he’s just as caught up in the spell of this moment as I am. He moves before I have to repeat myself, lumbering to his feet and bending over the bed. This frame isn’t as high as the one I sleep in back at the guesthouse; even bracing his forearms on the mattress, his hips are higher than his torso. Perfect.

I press my hand to the center of his back. “All the way down, big guy.”

He groans and arches into my touch, but he obeys. Of course he obeys. Poseidon has been carrying around the weight of the world for all of his adult life. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to hand over the control, just for a little while.

Maybe it feels as good for him as it does for me to take control. My life has been a never-ending spiral, dragging me along for the ride. Here, with him, in this moment, the ground finally feels steady beneath my feet.

I have the strangest desire to be worthy of the gift he gives me, of the responsibility he’s so willingly handed over.

I ease back, stroking slow circles over his wide back. “If we ever get the opportunity, I want to map your freckles with hot wax.” He shivers under my touch. “Would you like that?”

“Yes,” he moans.

“Then we will,” I say simply. There are Dominants who like to play true head-fuck games, but if given a choice, I’ll always lean toward simpler measures. A few well-placed words can do as much as caning someone—and the echoes will stay long after a bruise has faded. I press lightly against the small of his back, and he responds by arching his spine, offering his ass to me. My mouth goes dry. I can’t believe this is happening. “Your safe word.”

“Trident.” No hesitation. Only pure trust—trust I don’t deserve. I’ve never fucking deserved it. I always mess things up, manage to disappoint the people I care about the most. It’s easy to be perfect when you’re just a forbidden bed partner and presenting a fantasy to someone who’s only seeking that. This is supposed to be like those encounters, a seduction that ultimately benefits me. It…doesn’t.

It matters.

I massage the muscles on either side of the small of his back, trying to buy myself some time. I’m not prepared to deal with the messy emotions sloshing about inside me. Not now. Not ever, if I have anything to say about it.

“Hands flat on the bed.” I barely wait for him to obey before I bring my palm down on his bare ass. Yesterday I reddened his skin enough to release the ugly feeling riding him. Tonight, I’m going to leave my marks—as many of them as I can manage. I keep my hand on his lower back and alternate my strikes, warming us both up. A proper beating is a workout, and I’m out of shape.

Not that he needs much work. By the seventh strike, when I’m really getting a good rhythm and increasing my power, he’s shivering and shaking and moaning. I’m not holding him down in any meaningful way. It’s exceedingly cute how he starts to retreat from every hit but somehow ends up arching his back deeper by the time the pain blossoms. “You are a gift ,” I murmur. I spank him again, the hardest blow yet, before he can argue with me.

“Icarus, please .” Poseidon presses his face to the bed and then lifts his head. “I can’t take anymore.”

“You’re doing wonderfully.” I move behind him and squeeze his big ass, filling my hands with the curve of him. His skin is a deep red that’s bordering on purple in a few places. He’ll be feeling me through tomorrow, at least. I pull his cheeks apart and hold him like that, vulnerable and exposed to me. “Tell me how you want it.”

“However…however you want to give it to me.”

I close my eyes and strive for control. How the fuck hasn’t this man been snatched up and locked in someone’s dungeon? He’s too sweet, too trusting. I could destroy him, and I have the sudden suspicion that he’d thank me for it afterward.

Not tonight. I have to do this right. If he’s not going to take care of himself, then I’ll do it for him. I squeeze his ass tighter, making him whimper. “That is not an answer, Poseidon. It’s a cop-out.”

“Icarus—”

Gods, but I love the way he says my name. I release his ass and give him a little slap. “Tell me. Explicitly. Use your words, big guy.”

He makes that delicious whimper again and fists the comforter before he remembers my command to keep his hands flat. It’s amazing how such a small movement makes me feel like I can soar.

Poseidon presses his head hard to the bed, every muscle in his back tensing. “I want you to…” He drags in a breath that feels sucked directly from my lungs. “I want you to fuck me, Icarus. I want it to hurt.”

I have to close my eyes and count slowly to prevent myself from coming on the spot. Holy fuck. I… Gods. Focus. I just need to focus. Another night, another time, I’d give him the exact opposite, would go slow and soft and prolong it until we’re both a mess. But trust is built one block at a time, and his honesty deserves the reward of giving him exactly what he had the courage to ask for.

“One last question,” I murmur. “When is the last time you had someone here?”

He’s silent long enough that it’s clear he doesn’t want to tell me. I’m not moving forward without an answer, so I simply keep stroking him while he wrestles against the impulse to stay silent.

Finally, Poseidon says, “Six months.”

So long.

“Got it.” I make myself stop touching him long enough to shove off my pants and grab the condom and lube. After a quick internal debate, I roll the condom on my aching cock and set the lube next to his hip. I’ll need that in a moment.

But first, I fully intend to make Poseidon beg.