She pushed her hair out of her face. “Maybe a piece of that tart. If there’s any left.” She held up a hand. “No jokes about tarts, Sash.”
He grinned and kissed her, then glanced around for his pants, which seemed to have vanished. Well, Micah was probably asleep, and if not, he’d seen a naked man before, right? And hey, if she was serious… a little advertising couldn’t hurt, right?
“Be right back,” he said, whistling, and headed out of the room.
* * *
Micah lay on the couch with the blankets in a tangled mess over his lap, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
He knew how sex worked. His father had awkwardly explained the process during possibly the most embarrassing ten minutes of both of their lives. Moreover, a small section of his great-grandmother’s book was dedicated to things that weren’t toys, recipes, or routines to do around the house. Her careful notes on self-pleasure were almost as mortifying as his father’s talk. And Zev would sometimes show up at his place still dreamy-eyed, talking about howstronghis mate was.
But none of that had prepared him for the sounds coming from Viv and Sasha’s room.
It certainly didn’t prepare him for what he saw when the sounds stopped and Sasha emerged with red lines crisscrossing his bare chest and his gaze gone hazy and soft. It took Micah a moment to realize that he was under—in subspace, as his father had called it. Micah sat up, holding the blankets over his lap to obscure his erection, and Sasha turned to look his way.
“Oh. Hey. Getting water. You want some?”
Micah stared at the scratch marks on Sasha’s skin. Viv had done that. He wondered if that had been when Sasha started begging, his voice desperate and low, like he was going to die if he couldn’t come. Sasha followed Micah’s gaze and pressed at one of the marks, smearing a faint trail of blood over his shoulder, and Micah’s dominance flared like a flame in his belly, roaring to its full height.
“Does it hurt?” His voice was hoarse. He wanted Sasha to say yes. Please, gods, let him say yes.
“Yeah. Not as much now.” Sasha winked. “You should see what she can do with her magic.”
“You can use magic for that?” Micah had to control his breathing. He couldn’t look away from the blood. Did he like it? Was that what he liked? Blood? What kind of dominant likedblood?
“Or her nails. You can touch if you want. Go on.”
Micah tensed as Sasha swaggered over, naked and glistening with sweat. When Sasha got to his knees so Micah could have a closer look, Micah inhaled sharply. He raised his hand tentatively and touched a line of scratches running down Sasha’s chest. They weren’t deep—they’d likely be gone in an hour—but Micah could feel the welts as his fingers brushed over them, and he let his nails catch on one. Sasha gasped, just loud enough for Micah to notice, and Micah snatched his hand away. “Didn’t mean to.”
“You can go deeper, you know.” Sasha winked. “She won’t mind.”
Micah looked to the open door to Viv and Sasha’s room, then back to the marks on Sasha’s chest. He raised his hand again and slowly lined up his fingers with the scratches Viv had made. He dug his nails in, and Sasha closed his eyes, his smile blissful.
Micah dragged his fingers down, and Sasha let out a sharp moan that went right to Micah’s dick. Micah pulled away again, breathing hard, and clutched his own wrist to his chest. He wasn’t sure if he was afraid of himself, the temptation Sasha offered, or the strange tension rising between them.
Sasha opened his eyes and got to his feet. “Thanks, boss.”
“I’m not…” Micah could feel his face going hot. “Go get your wife her drink. She’s been waiting.”
“Sure thing.” If Sasha felt the dominance in Micah’s voice, he didn’t seem to mind it. He leaned down and winked at Micah again. “Boss.”
Micah clenched his fist. When Sasha’s back was turned, Micah looked at his fingers. There was blood smeared over his fingertips. He’d made Sasha bleed, and Sasha had liked it. And Micah…
Micah licked his fingers. They tasted metallic, like sweat and blood, and he looked at Sasha’s back and thought of the way he’d cried out for Viv. He wondered if Viv felt the same way when she made those marks over Sasha’s chest and shoulders. Whether he liked a flogger, or if it wasn’t enough.
Sasha returned with a mug of water that he set down on the table by the couch, and Micah stared up at him, Sasha’s taste lingering on his tongue.
“Thank you. That was…” What did a dominant say, here? “Good. You’re… a good person.”
“Aw, thanks.” Sasha retreated into the bedroom with the other cup and a piece of tart wrapped up in a cloth, and Micah raised the mug to his lips.
He’d never been so thirsty in his life.
He didn’t touch himself that night. He lay back on the couch with his hand to his mouth until he finally let exhaustion take him, and he dreamt of nails dragging over flesh, blood on his lips, smeared over Sasha’s mouth. When he woke, it was so early that the clever skylights someone had carved into the ceiling were still dark, and the fire in the living room fireplace was out. Micah groaned and hobbled over to it, lighting the tinder with a flint before he remembered that he had magic now.
Or he’d always had it. How strange. It was easier to think of it as something new, rather than something that was as natural to him as his dominance. But it seemed he was learning about both.
He used one of the recipes from the book for breakfast, cooking by the light of the fire. He cut holes out of a sliced squash to form rings and cracked quail eggs inside, and thankfully he recognized the spices hanging up over the stove. His great-grandmother had written, “Be careful not to break the circle. Circles have power.” Circles were everywhere in her diagrams and recipes. This one was supposed to “wake you in the morning.” Micah had always thought it was just folk wisdom, but now he wondered how many of the recipes and diagrams were actually useful spells.
