Page 67 of A Suitable Stray

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.”

Obeyshould 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 Tiirancouldthink 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 thesoundof 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.

Orindidfeel 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?”

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