Page 15 of The Grip of Death
“Good,” I said, licking my lips. “Punishment it is, then.”
“And what would this punishment look like, Master Jackson?”
Huh. Well played. He got me there. In the old days of the guild, errant apprentices were made to sweep out the workshops, oil the gears and axles, fetch supplies from storage. None of that stuff was very sexy.
But I was an artificer. We were supposed to be good at creating, at improvising. I reached for his boxers, rubbing the length of my palm against his throbbing hardness.
Xander gasped. “Master Jackson, this is highly inappropriate. I could report you to Guildhall for this.”
I leaned closer, grabbing his cock through his boxers, savoring the hitch in his breath, the tensing of his muscles.
“Fuck the bureaucrats. Fuck Guildhall and its spooky-ass inspecters. I do what I want.”
Xander bucked upward, the underside of his cock grinding against my hand. By the look of his face I could tell he was enjoying the friction of the fabric as much as the strength of my grip.
“This doesn’t seem like a punishment to me, Jackson. You’re sending mixed signals here.”
I slid downward, getting a good grip on the waist of his boxers, yanking them off even as Xander yelped and struggled. His fully erect cock bobbed obscenely between us, the tip already beaded with something sweet and wet. His face went flushed, a mix of excitement and humiliation.
“How about now?” I asked, balling up his boxers, tossing them across the room. I wrapped my fingers around the length of his cock. Xander groaned. “Does this feel more like a punishment now?”
A hoarse chuckle erupted from his throat as he stretched out against the bed, the crown of his head digging into the pillows.
“If this is your idea of a punishment, Jack, I’d love to hear about the rewards, too.”
This little asshole, still mocking me. This was why I had a hard time with roleplay. Sometimes it was easy, like smacking his ass silly in a secret room in Grayhaven, letting him live out — or was it relive? — his boarding school fantasies.
Me as the guild master, him as the apprentice — this couldn’t work as well because anything I threw at him wouldn’t feel like a punishment. Xander was a freak. Part of why I was marrying him.
Steadily growing frustrated, angrier than ever, I leaned across the bed, plucking a bottle of coconut oil out from the nightstand. Xander’s favorite. Silkblossom nectar couldn’t survive the trip between worlds, so this would have to do.
He leaned up on his elbows, a smug smile on his lips. “What’s happening now, oh great and powerful guild master? What otherpleasurable activity are we going to pretend is a proper form of punishment?”
“Fuck the punishment,” I growled, pouring oil onto my fingers, sliding them together to make it slick and warm. “You’re a dirty boy, Alexander Wright. You’d enjoy anything I do to you.”
He shrugged, smug as ever. “Facts.”
“So I should stop focusing on what you want,” I said, smearing the oil along my cock, tracing little circles around his hole. Xander threw his head back and moaned. “I should focus on what I want. And what I want is to fuck you so hard and so deep you’ll never think of disrespecting me again.”
“I — oh, gods, Jack, I — ”
My right hand guided my cock toward the pulsating pucker of his hole. My left hand closed around his throat.
“Master Jackson,” I reminded him, staring coolly into his eyes, watching the tremble of his lips. Was it anticipation? Fear? I’d enjoy it either way.
And he didn’t have to wait for long. I pushed myself in, savoring the tightening of his muscle as I entered him swift and deep. Xander cried out, then bit into the back of his hand. We’d done this what felt like hundreds of times before, but every time was fucking delightful, every time an opportunity to rediscover the curves and edges of his body, inside and out.
“Especially inside,” I whispered by his ear, my hips already thrusting uncontrollably, too turned on for my own good.
“All the way inside,” Xander croaked. “As deep and as hard as you want, Jack.”
I slammed harder into him, wrenching a cry out of his beautiful mouth, grabbing a fistful of his hair as I fucked him.
“That’s not my name.”
“Master Jackson,” he whimpered, meeting each of my strokes with his own. “Please. Fucking please. I’m so close, I — ”
I should have soundproofed our bedroom ages ago.
