The Consumption of Magic (Tales From Verania 3)

“Ryan? I asked you a question.”

“Yeah,” he croaked. “Yeah. That’s… different. Altogether.”

“And you could take it too, couldn’t you?”

He blinked slowly, face slack. “Yeah. I could. I think so. I think I could, Sam.”

“I think so too.” I was halfway to the bed, my steps slow. I wanted to draw this out as much as I could, because I didn’t know when we’d have a chance to do this again. Ryan was right when he said it’d be the longest that Gary, Tiggy, and I had been apart, but it’d also be the longest I’d been away from Ryan since I’d returned to the City of Lockes from Kevin’s keep in the valley to the north.

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” I said, voice low. “You’re going to turn over and get on your hands and knees. You’re going to reach up and grab the bars above the headboard that Mama had so conveniently installed. You will not let go until I tell you to. You will not turn around until I tell you to. Do you understand?”

He nodded, pupils blown out, sleep pants tented at his crotch.

“Do you remember your safeword?”

That pulled him back a little as he grimaced. He mumbled something that I couldn’t quite make out, even though I knew what it was.

“Sorry?”

He rolled his eyes. “The safeword is Gary.”

I grinned wickedly. “You’re damn fucking right it is.”

“You know, I wasn’t even there when you had to hear him screaming your name while getting fucked by Kevin. I don’t know why you have to take it out on me.”

“It’s revenge.”

“It’s not revenge if he doesn’t know about it.”

“But I know about it. That’s enough.”

“You’re so weird.”

I stopped at the end of the bed, bending over to place my hands flat on the mattress, keeping my eyes locked on Ryan’s. “Funny how you’re still just sitting there. I thought I told you to turn over and grab the bars, Knight Commander. Don’t make me do it for you.”

“Yeah?” he asked, eyes bright, considering. “Maybe I should make you. Maybe you’d have to use your magic to make me do it.”

I chuckled and raised a hand, palm toward the ceiling. He groaned long and loud when a little twirl of gold and green sparks swirled around my hand. It was nothing but a light show—a parlor trick, something that Morgan would certainly frown upon—but it still was enough to make his cock twitch in his sleep pants. He had a kink for magic and a kink for being controlled, and I had no problem with indulging him in both. There was a line I would draw in that I would never use large levels of magic against him. I couldn’t take the chance. I wouldn’t hurt him that way. Not even if he begged me to do more. I thought he knew that too, which is why he never pushed.

So instead of waiting for me to threaten him a bit more, he twisted on the mattress until he was flat on his stomach. The muscles in his back rippled as he pushed himself up on his hands and knees. His breaths were quick and sharp as he reached up to hold on to the wooden bars above the headboard. The angle caused his back to arch, his ass straining against the material of his sleep pants. The bottoms of his feet were pale and lovely, toes digging into the mattress. He cut the perfect figure, the candlelight caressing his skin, casting shadows in the ridges of his muscles. He pulled on the bars until the wooden slats they were attached to swung out on hinges like a door. He shuffled slowly backward and to the side of the bed until the bars were horizontal with the length of the bed, his feet hanging off the side where I stood. The wooden slat locked into place, firm and rigid.

“That’s good,” I said, throat dry. “That’s real good.”

He pulled himself up using the bars as leverage, flexing all the muscles he could as he put himself on display, knowing exactly what it took to break me. I was moving even before I had the conscious thought to, and he sagged in relief when I placed my hand in the middle of his back, pressing against his skin, holding him in place.

“I told you that you shouldn’t move once you got yourself in position,” I said near his ear, watching as gooseflesh prickled along his bare shoulders. “I’ll give you that one. Don’t make me ask you again.”

He nodded, head hanging down between his arms, eyes squeezed shut. I let him rest for a moment until I could see him centering himself, breath slowing. A thin trickle of sweat left his hairline near his right ear and dripped down his cheek to his jaw. I reached up and cupped his face, running my finger along the sweat, brushing it away. I could tell he wanted to lean into the touch, but he didn’t.

“Good,” I said again. “You’re doing so good for me. I’m very happy with you right now.”

Ryan didn’t like to be called names when we were in the bedroom. His name or Knight Commander was enough, but even that last was used sparingly. He didn’t like me being mean, and he didn’t like heavy—or even moderate—amounts of pain. He didn’t need to be coddled, but he was sensitive like this, vulnerable. It’d taken us a while to get here, and many stilted conversations had taken place, both of us red and embarrassed as we tried to vocalize what we wanted. I trusted him, and I knew he trusted me, but this was sex. I’d never had it before him. The sex he’d had hadn’t necessarily been ideal.

It didn’t matter to him, or so he said.

It mattered to me.

Which is why I always made sure to tell him how good he was, how proud of him I was. We’d stumbled upon his praise kink accidentally, and it’d taken a bit of fumbling before we’d gotten in sync with each other. I tended to go overboard, he wanted to make me happy, and it sometimes ended awkwardly.