Irina's weight shifts above me, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate motions that send waves of pleasure through my exhausted body. The hot shower we shared when we got back from the hotel wasn't enough to wash away the lingering tension between us, but this, her on top of me, moving with unexpected gentleness, feels like she's retaking what's hers.
Her eyes narrow as she studies my chest, her rhythm never faltering. Her fingertips trace a pattern of purple marks along my collarbone, evidence of Selena's fervor from last night.
"My poor boy," she says softly, a genuine frown creasing her forehead. "She left so many marks on you."
I'm not sure how to respond. The hickeys don't hurt, not really, but Irina's reaction to seeing them is complicated. There's possessiveness in her touch, yes, but also something that almost feels like concern.
"It's okay," I manage to say, my voice catching as she shifts her weight, taking me deeper. "They'll fade."
"She was rough with you," Irina continues, her fingertips ghosting over a particularly dark bruise on my shoulder. "Too rough."
My hands find her hips, steadying her as she continues her gentle pace.
"I'm fine," I insist, though my body tells a different story. Every muscle aches from Selena's demands, my jaw still sore from hours of use.
Irina shakes her head, unconvinced. Her long hair falls around us like a curtain, tickling my chest as she leans closer to examine a bite mark on my neck.
"No camera today," she whispers, almost to herself. "Just us."
The words send an unexpected warmth through me. Just us. As if we're something more than owner and property, as if this connection between us means something beyond transaction.
Her lips find mine, softness meeting hunger as she claims me. Her tongue slips between my lips, exploring rather than conquering. I respond instantly, meeting her halfway.
I realize with a start that I haven't felt the weight of the collar since before we showered. She hasn't replaced it, hasn't needed to. Her presence alone is enough to keep me tethered, her body above mine more binding than any physical restraint.
My hands slide up her back, feeling the perfect smoothness of her skin. She allows this touch, encourages it even, arching into my hands like a cat being stroked.
"No one else gets to mark you," she whispers against my lips. "Only me."
Her teeth graze my lower lip, not hard enough to leave a mark, just enough to make her point. Then she's kissing me again, deeper this time, her body moving more urgently against mine.
"You're mine," she says, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. Her pupils are dilated, black nearly swallowing the gray. "Say it."
"I'm yours," I respond without hesitation, the words coming naturally.
She kisses me again, rewarding my compliance with a roll of her hips that makes me gasp into her mouth.
I don't understand her. One minute she's renting me out to other women, the next she's reclaiming me like I'm the most precious thing she's ever owned. She treats me like merchandise but kisses me like she's drowning and I'm her oxygen. The contradiction makes my head spin more than her touch.
Her face softens suddenly, and she leans down, pressing her forehead against mine. Our noses touch, our breath mingling as she rubs her cheek against mine.
"I want to reward you. Let me give you something nice. A necklace, perhaps? Or maybe a fur coat?"
I can't help but laugh at the suggestion, though I try to keep it gentle. "I don't really like jewelry," I tell her honestly. "And I'd absolutely hate wearing a fur coat."
What I don't say out loud is that those things feel distinctly feminine to me, like gifts you'd give a girlfriend or wife back in my world. But here, with everything flipped upside down, I guess men are the ones who get adorned with pretty things.
Irina pulls back slightly, studying my face with those penetrating gray eyes. "Then what would you like? There must be something."
The question hangs between us, heavy with possibility. I swallow hard, gathering my courage.
"Could I..." I hesitate, then push forward. "Could I maybe stop wearing the collar when I'm in the house?"
Her body goes completely still above me, her expression freezing. For a long, terrible moment, she just stares at me, her eyes unreadable. Then she takes a deep, measured breath.
"No," she says firmly. "If you're upstairs, you wear the collar. That's non-negotiable."
She begins moving again, her hips tumbling with renewed purpose. The friction pulls a moan from deep in my throat, momentarily scattering my thoughts.
"I don't know what I want then," I whisper, my hands gripping her waist as pleasure builds despite my disappointment.
"Think about it," she says, leaning down to press her lips against my ear. "I want to give you something that makes you happy."
I'm struck by her offer, the seemingly genuine desire to make me happy despite refusing my request about the collar.
I lean up and capture her lips with mine, pulling her closer as I whisper against her mouth, "Right now, I just want to finish."
Her smile transforms her face completely, stretching wide with unexpected delight. Something changes in her eyes, they grow wider, more intense, almost feverish with excitement.
"That's all?" she breathes, her voice soft with wonder.
She moves with renewed purpose, her body taking control as she pins my wrists above my head. The gentleness from before gives way to something more primal, more urgent. Her hips drive against mine with increasing speed, the change in pace making me gasp.
"Let go," she commands, her lips brushing against my ear. "Show me."
My body responds to her command instantly. The pressure that's been building explodes through me like a tidal wave, washing away everything, my fears, my confusion, the lingering soreness from Selena. There's only this moment, this connection, this woman claiming me completely.
I cry out as ripples of ecstasy crash through me, my back arching off the bed. Irina watches my face with rapt attention, drinking in every expression, every sound. Her eyes never leave mine as she works me through it, drawing out every last sensation until I'm trembling beneath her.
When I finally catch my breath, she's still looking at me with that same intensity. Her fingers trace patterns on my chest, avoiding the marks left by Selena.
"Beautiful," she whispers, almost to herself. "You're so beautiful when you let go."
Something shifts inside me, a question forming that I've been afraid to ask since the day she bought me. My throat tightens, but I force the words out anyway.
"Irina," I say softly, my voice rougher than I expected. "What do you want me to be for you?"
The question hangs between us, fragile and dangerous. Her fingers freeze against my skin, her expression changing from satisfied to something I can't read. She just keeps on staring at me, her eyes widening slightly as if the question has caught her completely off guard. The silence stretches between us, seconds ticking by that feel like hours.
When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper.
"I don't know, but I feel a lot happier since I met you."