Page 109 of The Mourning Throne
God, I donot care.
Lex closed his eyes for a moment. Forced them back open. He watched Morgan push up the edge of the bralette and press two fingers into the soft skin of Ollie’s upper ribs. Marking the spot.
No. This wasn’t going to happen this way.
Itwasn’t.
So Lex tried again.
“I mean, come on,” he said lightly, pitching his voice higher, like a tease. “You’re not even gonna let me play? Just one, teeny, tiny game?”
Morgan didn’t respond. He rolled up his sleeves instead, methodical. Unbothered.
Lex’s laugh was too loud. “I picked out the lingerie, you know. Let that count. Give me kudos, or something.”
Still nothing.
Lex leaned a little closer. “Let me pick where the first one goes. Just a little one. Please?”
Morgan wouldn’t evenlook at him.“Sit down, Lex.”
And that was it.
No amusement. No warmth. No cruel edge to cling to. Just cold dismissal, clean as a blade.
Lex didn’t sit. Not at first. He stayed there, suspended in the hollow space between command and rejection, heart thudding too loud for how still his body was. Then he backed up. Sat down like gravity had finally remembered to do its job.
The needle slid in slowly—just enough to puncture.
Ollie whimpered.
Morgan paused.
“That’s not still,” he said flatly.
Ollie didn’t ask for rules this time, and part of Lex—he knew it was his fault. His mood was affecting how Ollie was acting. He should’ve been more bright, more excited to play a new game! Happy to record like he always was.
But the heat in his cheeks hadn’t faded yet. Neither had the sting in his chest.
Morgan pushed the needle deeper.
The second sound from Ollie sounded less like a whimper or a gasp. Something choked and and high-pitched.
“Slower,” Morgan murmured, and turned the needle just slightly.
Lex didn’t look away. But he didn’t feel that pulse of thrill he usually did, either. He didn’t feel anything. Only the overwhelming urge for this whole mess to be over.
If Morgan was going to treat him like this, and he couldn’t figure out new ways to break Ollie?
London wasn’t worth it. Another city. Another couple days of agony dealing with business meetings.
Really? Now?
Now he wanted to go home.
Somewhere as far away from this shitshow andNoahand Max as possible.
Morgan made ten puncture marks in total. Ten entry points, spaced along Ollie’s ribs like a constellation no one wanted to name. He wiped each one down, brutal and methodical, and stood up.
