Showered, fed and dry, Omega and Reikhard settled in for the evening. It’s Saturday night and they're in their apartment, which still needs some major redesigning in her opinion but there’s no restlessness waking in her, making her tense, sending her fingers tapping and making her frown herself into a headache; she’s with Reikhard and they could be in a freakin’ cardboard box and he’d make it feel safe.

With him watching her like she’s some kind of alien, she mixes up the perfect vodka milkshake, ignoring his protests, and giggling when he covers his eyes dramatically as she tips up the vodka bottle and glugs in some of the Gray Goose he said was wasted on anything but a martini.

“Reik, live a little,” she says coming close and wrapping one arm around his neck as she gives him a chocolate flavored kiss. “It’s green eggs and ham time.”

He crosses his arms and gives her an annoyed look – which he’s totally mastered – and shakes his head a tiny bit. “I think not. I bought myself enough of actual alcohol to last an atomic bomb. I’ll –”

She tries to snap out his name and fix him with a commanding glare but it fails miserably and he lifts one eyebrow – damn, does he spend hours practicing this stuff or what? – and looks smug. “Chicken,” she says finally, when she’s held the glass to his lips and he’s kept them so firmly closed you couldn’t pry them open with anything, not even a kiss (she tried that one first of all). She gives him a few clucks and a disappointed look and sighs heavily.

“I’m not,” he says, when she’s stepped back. “I simply have more respect for decent alcohol than you do.”

“Whatever,” she says airily, twirling away and taking a dainty sip. “Still think you’re denying yourself a potentially taste bud enhancing experience through stubbornness and – hey!”

“Was that supposed to be an imitation of me?” he says, his voice grating in her ear, his arms holding her tightly against him. He’d moved when her back was turned and her drink’s in danger of spilling because once he’s done whispering he bites down on her earlobe and the small fierce pain makes her jump and quiver in his arms.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me, sir,” she says huskily, grinding her ass gently against him and feeling him harden. She dips a finger in the shake and reaches up over her shoulder. “Try it, and I’ll wake you up with a blow-job for the next week if you like.”

“I don’t like the predictable,” he says, easing back so there’s space between his cock and her ass which takes all the fun away from it. She pops her dripping finger between her lips, making sure her head’s turned so he gets an eyeful, and moans the way she does when his tongue’s flickering against her clit, all appreciative and gaspy.

He rolls his eyes and she guesses he recognized it because he sounds vaguely insulted when he says, “It can’t be that good.”

“Well, you’ll never know, will you?”

She’s about to give up and let him have his boring whiskey on rocks, when he removes the glass from her hand deftly and steps back, holding up a warning hand as she follows him. Entranced, she watches him take a sniff and wrinkle up his nose the way her cat used to when his food had been left out for too long. She expects him to take the teeniest of tiny sips but instead he raises the glass to his lips and downs a good third of it with grim determination. He pauses for breath, stares down at the glass as if he can’t believe he’s holding it and shudders as if it was neat brandy or something.

She saunters over and smiles up at him. “Reikhard! You hero,” she purrs admiringly. “That took balls. Want to finish it off?”

He closes his eyes in mute agony and shakes his head and she chuckles and leans in close, wiping away his milk moustache with delicate dabs of her fingertips until he’s all cleaned up.

“Thank you,” he says, lemon-sour, “for teaching me that you have absolute zero good taste when it comes to alcohol ." He burps. “And making me feel rather unwell.”

“If you throw up, you’re not going to blame me are you?” she says.

He shakes his head. “I, ah, took your dare. Any consequences are my fault.” He eyes her. “You won’t get punished for that.”

“Oh.” She can’t help letting a bit of disappointment creep in. Not that she wants Reik hurling his cookies, or –

“Why Kitten,” he drawls. “Can it be that you did that expecting reprisals?” He strokes his finger down her cheek and pinches her chin as an encore. “Did you want me to punish you?” he asks softly with that disquieting gleam in his eyes that makes her toes curl and her breath quicken.

"Repirsals is a big word for you Reikhard." She replies without thinking, her tongue clucking against the roof of her mouth as she grins wickedly, then instantly realizes what she says and looks at him, cheeks flushed pink with slight shame and a little embarassment. There's a familar look that flashes in his pretty eyes, the one that he gets right before she's bent over whatever table is nearest, but it's gone as soon as it appears, and he's just staring at her, and she knows he's waiting for an answer.

“No-o,” she says hesitantly and fuck, she still doesn’t really know the answer to that one. Does she, or doesn’t she? Only thing she’s sure about is that she likes what follows, when she’s mewling and crying and seeing stars because he’s fucked her into heaven and back.

“No? You don’t sound too sure about that,” he comments. A brisk slap lands on her ass. “As it happens, I do plan to thrash you soundly tonight..” While she’s still gaping at the casual words that seem just a little bit fucking extreme, he nods towards a wooden chest over by the wall. “Go and *fetch* what I’ll need, please.”

“Master...”

He turns away. “I really don’t think I should be made to repeat myself, do you?” he asks the air.

She rolls her eyes and walks slowly to the chest, peeking at him to see if he’s smiling, and giving him a cold look when she sees he’s absorbed in cracking cubes into a crystal glass, slicing a lime so juicy sweet when he licks his fingers clean he smiles instead of wincing, and generally looking like a man with nothing on his mind but mixing a drink.

Muttering to herself about people who can’t take a joke, she kneels and lifts up the lid, wondering what the hell he’s planning to use on her defenceless ass. It’s full of boxes, dusty and battered through use and she sighs and lifts them out until the chest is empty, without finding anything but more jigsaws than Toys R Us have.

“Uh, Reikhard, I can’t find – whatever it was you wanted,” she calls.

He cat foots up behind her and pushes one of the boxes with a bare foot. “That one. Unless you really want to tackle the Matterhorn at sunset. Looks a bit tricky to me; too much snow.”

“Scrabble?” She picks up the jigsaws and games invented when a computer was a man who counted stuff, and packs them away. “You want to play Scrabble?” She’s trying to guess what he’s got in mind ‘cause he can’t just want to rack up a high score and gloat. Way too simple...

Then again with his ego..

“Do you know how to play?” he asks. “The rules are very easy.”

She drops the box on the table and sits down opposite him. “I’ve played it before,” she says unenthusiastically.

Yeah, she’s played it. Played it until that memorable afternoon when Raivyn – who considering, really should’ve been able to spell ‘whore’- shoved the ‘X’ so far up Harlequins nose when she challenged her that it had to get removed with forceps and somehow it never got put back in the box after that...

“Kitten, You might sound a little less like a woman who sees defeat staring her in the face,” he says jovially, practically rubbing his hands together as he sets up the board. There’s a dictionary tucked inside the box and he pats it. “We’ll be a little limited when it comes to challenges, as this is hardly the O.E.D, but I promise you I won’t play any word that’s not allowed.”

Well, isn’t he so fucking generous? She bares her teeth at him in a snarl and gives the dark green cloth bag a vicious shake. “If it’s not in that, Reik,” she says firmly, pointing to the dictionary, “it doesn’t get on that." She taps her finger against the checkered board and meets Reikhards’s narrowed eyes without flinching. “Oh, look,” she says, delving into the bag. “I got an ‘A’. Looks like I’ll be going first.”

As Reikhard pulls a lousy ‘T’, turns out she’s right.

It’s all going along fairly well for a bit. Reikhard chortles like he’s won the lottery when he gets to play ‘jack’ with the ‘J’ on a triple letter and she’s stuck with a rack of one pointers that means she’s trailing by thirty odd points. Part of the problem is that she can’t concentrate because she’s waiting for the fucking twist.

“So what’s it gonna be, Reikhard?” she says casually, running her foot up his leg and giving him an innocent look. “A spank for every point I’m behind when we’re done?”

“I beg your pardon?” he says, barely lifting his head as he frowns at the rack of letters and rearranges them solemnly. “What did you –oh! Don’t be ridiculous; it could be as many as a hundred.” He gives her an indulgent twinkle and a nasty smirk before returning to contemplate the ivory squares that are so fucking fascinating he can’t spare her a kiss. “My hand would get dreadfully sore... ah, now how about that?”

He places his letters in one of those clever, make three words by shoving letters in the middle and tying up the whole fucking corner of the board, ways and adds up his score in a mumble he makes sure is loud enough to be annoying and inescapable. “Twenty-three, oops, forgot the ‘D’’s on a double letter... twenty-five. Not bad.”

He beams, pulls out some replacement letters, and she watches his smile dim a bit. It’s the faintest trace of blood in the water and she takes a long, reflective sip of her shake and gets in the game for the first time.

“Want to make this interesting, Sir?” she coos. “Little bet, prize for the winner, that sort of thing?”

He’s not so rapt in contemplation of the board that he lets that one slide by. “And just what did you have in mind, Omega?”

She’s got just the thing. “If I win,” she says slowly, watching his face, “I get an ‘I get to cum’ card.”

Reikhard looks up at her like he noticed she was there for the first time since the game-board had been set down, then he leans back and taps his fingers against each other, waiting in silence for her to carry on. She rolls her eyes at his posture. “Work it out, Reik; all those times I’m begging to cum and you’ve tied a knot in it or something and figure you can wait all night...”

“Omega!” he says, spluttering with outrage. “That’s hardly a –”

“Well, just once, I’ll get to tell you to stop making me wait and you’ll have to listen,” she says, getting dreamy-eyed just thinking about it. “Have to make me cum in, oh, I guess you’ve got a minute. Maybe two. I’ll be so ready to cum by the time I use it, shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Out of the question,” Reikhard says flatly. Big freakin' surprise.

She smiles and sets the trap. “So you think you’re going to lose, then?”

She can practically see the wheels turning as he works it out and she knows she’s won. Different game, but look at that, Reikhard is checkmated, by his own damn ego and his desperate need to protect it.

“Fine.” Sucker. “And if I win –” He pauses to think about it and she keeps a calm smile pinned to her face, “You’ll have to go without watching television for the next three months...and that includes your DVD collection...oh and playing video games”

What? Wait...what? Is he serious? She raises her eyes to meet his, all wide eyed and surprised. How..How could she live without knowing what's going on with Dexter, or...or reliving moments with Angel and Buffy? That alone is just not even right but the video games? She just got the new pokemon game and she hasn't even gotten to the fifth gym leader yet! She has to evolve her pikachu still! HE'S SO CLOSE...and there are times when clinging to that DS is the only thing that keeps her sane on nights when he's placed her in the bed-side cage for the night. It's not even fucking fair, it's just down right evil. He’s got to be kidding her!

“Or we can just make this a friendly game,” he says condescendingly, patting her hand.

“Too late, Reik,” she says, snatching her hand away so fast she's surprised it didn't leave burn marks. “Stakes accepted.” The jumble of letters in front of her suddenly provide inspiration and she reaches out a trembling hand and adds ‘acomb’ to ‘cat’ – he’d barely been able to hold back a smile when she posted that earlier – and snags a triple word score and a handy 57 points.

Game on, Reikhard. Game fucking on.

When she pulls out a ‘U’, ‘Q’ and ‘Z’ a few minutes later she nearly cums right there.

It takes her twenty minutes to win and she’s really fucking gracious in victory –

"It’s only sixty-three points, Reikhard; that’s, like, so close. Practically a tie..." and he’s a total gentleman about it, giving her a tight, congratulatory smile and tidying the board away while she mixes herself a victory drink... but she’s waiting for him to do something to even the score and expecting it to be pretty fiendish.

Instead he walks over to her and hands her a sheet of paper. On it he’s written her an I.O.U for an instant orgasm. She touches her fingers to it and looks up at him and even though, yeah, he’d been a smug bastard, she loves him too much not to soothe his ruffled feathers and she says softly, "Reikhard, did you let me win? ‘Cause, swear to God, that was just so freaky...”

He frowns. “I wouldn’t do that. Ever.” The frown deepens. “Omega, though it's an incredibly shocking thing to say; you won fair and square and I’m very proud of you.” He gives her a swift kiss. “There. Now, what would you like to do for the rest of the evening?”

She folds the note and tucks it into his shirt pocket. “Don’t know. But you’ve got two minutes to make me cum, Reik.”

****

He hesitates for just a second and she's about to call him on it. In fact, she's totally about to call him on it when he gently seizes her wrists and strokes his thumbs over her pulse points, which immediately start thundering away like the hounds of hell are after her.

"Are you sure about that?" he asks carefully. And it's the same question he kept asking her when they started playing Scrabble and she was putting down her 'cats' and 'pins' in all the wrong places so he could blaze his way to a triple word score on the next go.

"Am I sure that I want to cum in the next two minutes?" she splutters incredulously but she can't help the note of uncertainty that's creeping into her voice, and she shakes free of his stroking thumbs so she can wind her arms round his neck and smoosh her breasts against his chest. "Sounds like all kinds of fun to me, Reikhard."

He nods his head in deference to the fact that she owns his ass for the next 120 seconds and kisses the sensitive patch of skin behind her ear, which makes her shiver like she's cold. "Fine" he murmurs, sliding his hands down to cup her ass. "I just thought that you'd prefer *not* to fritter away such a rare opportunity.."

She's still not sure how or why he's trying to call her bluff and for a moment she's distracted by his fingers smoothing down the skirt of her dress, then rucking it up on the journey back home. "I'll let you have an extra minute on the clock if you think you need it," she offers with a smug, little smirk, squirming against the start of a really promising erection as the tips of his fingers tickle the backs of her thighs.

He's planting a tiny line of butterfly sweet kisses across her jaw line. "It's your choice, Omega, but I would have thought you'd have preferred to play your card when you really need it."

"Like when?"

"Oh, like after I've spanked your ass until it's a nice shade of deep pink," he drawls, all honey and treacle and other sticky things, his nails lightly scratching her smooth skin. "Then fucked you with my fingers and my tongue and my cock for an hour or so and still not let you cum but if you're adamant that you want your orgasm in the next three minutes, I'm sure I can come up with something."

There isn't a fucking reason on earth that she should still be in his arms, especially as she's pouting and huffing and yanking the paper back out of his pocket, "You're such a bastard sometimes Reikhard!"

He gives her a completely evil grin and actually has the nerve to pinch her ass. "I'm well aware of that, Omega, but it seems to get you awfully hot and bothered so I forbear."

He kisses her lips even if they are still closed in her annoyence and clinked his glass against hers before making his way to the bedroom...

She huffs once more, standing her ground before sighing and walking after him into the bedroom.

"M-Master?" She calls out.

He really was such a bastard.

He hadn’t noticed yet.

At least – she didn’t think he’d noticed yet.

He hadn’t said anything anyway. If he hadn’t said anything, then that was good. It meant he didn’t care even if he had noticed.

Well. Maybe that wasn’t so good.

But better all the same. Better that he didn’t see her like this.

Omega kept up a reasonable pretence in that she made sure he was fed, massaged, bathed and clothed. She even managed to summon up a smile or two when she was around him, although she knew they were shallow and paltry shadows of their usual selves.

But had he been paying attention he would’ve noticed her curious listlessness, the frequent tremble of her chin and the glimmer in her eyes. How her voice had lost its lilting edge.

But mostly he seemed content to go about his pursuits by himself, utterly focused on the task at hand – as he always was whenever his plans were especially brilliant.

She didn’t even mind that he seemed to have no real use for her right then. That’s how she knew – even more so than the vague knot of nausea that was ever present in her stomach – that this was more than just a case of the dramatics, as Splain called it.

It was kinda scary, really, to feel like that. Well, not so much to feel like that, but for it to be about anything other than Reikhard. It had seemed for a while there she had entered a magical realm where nothing could touch her or hurt her, except him – and he always made it up to her, it was beautiful.

Besides, all that blistering pain just made the good times shine brighter. Being tossed violently between despondency and elation was a heady drug and she was all too happily addicted. A powerful elixir that made her heart beat faster, her blood beat harder and set her soul on fire, reminding her that she was alive and she was in love and that love was simply....everything.

And so all was as it should be.

But this. This was all new. She didn’t have any assurances of how it would end, or even how it could end. Maybe it couldn’t and that was a terrifying thought. Maybe she would be stuck with this wretched feeling forever, frozen in the moment she had opened up the paper and happened across the news – like a punch to her gut that would leave her gasping for breath always.

Reikhard always made everything better. That she could always count on. But not only did this have nothing to do with him – she could never tell him. It would be an insult. An affront to the love they shared. A betrayal. As though he wasn’t all and everything and the only thing she really needed to worry about.

How could he ever make this better?

After all the effort he’d gone through to set her free from stress and worry. She was selfish, horribly, thoughtlessly selfish, she knew.

Yet she just couldn’t drive these feelings away.

She tried to sleep as much as she could, to avoid having to think about it all. She kept hoping every time she woke up the anguish would’ve lifted, dispersed and evaporated as though it had never been there at all, leaving her light and free as always. Every time she opened her eyes there was a moment of blankness, where she would blink dazedly at her surroundings, slowly remembering what the world was and that she was alive in it.

Then she would remember and that awful feeling would descend within her once more.

It wasn’t a sharp and wrenching pain, fierce and bright as splintered bone that left her trying to escape from herself. It was simply a constant aching hollow as though she’d been scooped out and left to drain of whatever was left. It never left her and it never eased, but persisted as relentless as a parasite that had lodged within her, sucking her dry.

She paced, hands fisted by her sides, breathing shallow and strained, her whole body coiled tight as though ready to spring but she couldn’t release. She couldn’t.

“Get a hold of yourself, cookie,” she hissed through gritted teeth to her reflection, before her expression wavered and she found herself pleading, her voice trembling: “Please girl, please. Please keep it together. Please. Please.”

She would not let herself cry. The tears hovered but she dashed them away before they could fall and held her breath until they passed. She caught glimpses of herself and turned away in shame. She looked as though she were being drained, growing thinner and more drawn, the sparkling light in her eyes diminished and her smile quavered on her mouth.

She avoided him devoutly. If she heard him approach, she would quietly pad away, disappearing into another dark corner of the apartment. If he barged into the room, muttering and fixated on some odd pursuit, she’d huddle quietly until he left. She strove to anticipate his needs and see that they were met before he could demand them, quickly slinking away once they were fulfilled. In this mood, he would not sleep but she avoided their bed anyway. Just in case.

If he got too close, he would see. And she couldn’t let that happen.

As uncharacteristic as her behaviour was, he remained oblivious. She knew that was a good thing. She was glad, really. His anger, if he noticed, would be terrible. But his disappointment would be worse.

The pain was like a lump in her throat that she could not swallow. She quivered beneath the stress of it and battled its insistence. But still it did not abate and she thought finally she was going to split.

She knew finally she had to leave, had to break out into the night and go running the streets until she’d finally shed her sorrow.

She shifted frenetically through the apartment, face contorted and her teeth bared as she strained against the emotion that threatened to consume her whole.

Then his voice, spoken softly through the darkness, brought her up short:

“Omega, what’s wrong?”

Slowly, she turned to face him where he leaned against a wall in the corner of the room, one leg crossed easily over the other, hands in pockets, surveying her with a still and curious expression.

She breathed in, swallowed, finally trusted herself to speak: “N-nothing’s wrong, Master,” her voice hitched and she clenched her fists by her side, sucking her lower lip into her mouth and staring at him with wide, unconvincing eyes.

Reikhard raised an eyebrow at her. “You’ve been a terrible bore this week.”

She gulped. Felt her chin begin to wobble. But she held on. “I’m sorry. I thought you were busy.”

His eyes widened and he shifted off the wall, standing up straight. “But I have been busy. Very busy. And you’ve been no help at all. Pacing around, sulking, snivelling and brooding. You haven’t even managed a smile to help inspire my work.”

She let her head droop. Inside the ache was becoming a throb. Her selfish misery had overshadowed his needs. She’d let him down. The one thing she’d always strived never to do and now she had done it because she’d been too wrapped up in her own little corner of his world to pay attention to the rest. She was a miserable failure.

Yet, she just couldn’t stop feeling. A part of her wanted him to understand that, too.

“I – I’ve tried,” she heard herself say, voice quietly entreating. “It’s just – “ and then her eyes brimmed with tears and she shut them swiftly, struggling against the sudden rise of her heartbeat.

She heard the slither of fabric as he shifted across the room, opened her eyes again to see him folding his long body down into his armchair, hands on either arm rest, legs spread and head tilted back, regarding her from narrowed eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she choked and realised she was wringing her hands anxiously in front of her.

He was silent a moment, his eyes hard upon her and then he spoke: “You know what adds insult to injury, kitten? I know this little depression of yours is nothing to do with me. No, I’ve been a perfect angel to you lately,” his words were spoken without the same theatrical nuance he usually placed upon everything he said. Instead they were quiet and restrained, brimming with menace. Fear spiked out from her gut like slivers of ice. “So it begs the question of what else could possibly be so important that it deserves so much focus.”

He paused again and the silence between them grew into a buzz, fraught with tension.

Again he quirked a brow. “Care to share?”

She hesitated, hands now twisted behind her back, squirming where she stood as his searching eyes held her in thrall. Then she shook her head. “It’s nothing. It’s nothing. I just – I just – “ and then she was blinking away tears again, suddenly helpless against the tide of overwhelming grief that rose within her.

His expression abruptly shifted to one of contrived concern and he pouted at her, brows raised.

“Aw, kitten. Poor baby!”

She shuddered beneath the caressing sound of his voice, made all the more terrified by the coddling in his tone.

“Why don’t you come over here and sit on Master's knee?” He patted his lap and a mean little smile flickered across his face.

She went. She knew she had no choice and as frightened as she was, she wanted to go as well.

He pulled her onto his lap while she trembled, struggling hard against breaking down, both his arms trapping her tight against him. She realised she’d not been so close to him all week and suddenly the smell and feel of him against her was comforting and she did not resist when he placed a firm hand on her cheek and eased her head down onto his shoulder.

“Now,” his voice vibrated through her as she curled her fingers around his coat lapels. “Why don’t you tell me all about what’s upset my little girl?”

The desire to give in then was overwhelming. The feeling of safety in his arms was a powerful one and she wanted nothing more than to succumb.

She clung tight to his lapels and turned her face into his neck.

“I got some bad news, Master,” her voice was small and babyish and he squeezed her so hard she couldn’t breathe for a moment.

“Tsk tsk,” he whispered fiercely into her hair. “Who’s dared to give my kitty bad news?”

She gnawed on her lip, shifted closer against him.

“I saw it in the paper. In the – in the Obituaries,” and she remembers in a sudden brilliant flash of newsprint, growing translucent beneath the drip of her soda as she had read the words in shock.

He tucked a hand beneath her chin, lifted her face to his, staring intently into her eyes.

“What did you see in the paper, Omega?”

Her gaze held by his like that and she couldn’t even shut her eyes to escape him. He may as well have tied her down and she hiccoughed and stammered over her answer, staring at him the whole time.

“M-my Gra-grandmother. She ne-never loved me. She never ca-cared. I never – never had a ch-chance with her. And now – and now – “ her breath hitched and her chest heaved as she almost erupted with emotion. “ – she’s – she’s dead!” She hiccoughed again with the effort to swallow her tears and she gazed at him hopelessly, her chin wobbling.

His lip lifted in a small sneer and he cocked his head, staring at her with outright disbelief. “Is that all?” he snapped and she lifted the back of her hand to her mouth, nodding tearfully. “That’s ridiculous.”

She knew that it was. She knew it. Yet that didn’t curb the relentless tidal wave of remorse and loss that pounded within her then with creasing urgency.

“I just – “ she stammered, trying to make him understand. “I just – she was...family.. I just – she never cared – about me – I just always ho – hoped – “

His hand was on the back of her neck then and she fell immediately silent, gazing at him with a glazed expression, lips slack and wet.

“I’m the only one that should matter, Omega.” His voice was dark, his teeth gritted and fear made her quake.

“I – I know – “ she stammered but he continued, speaking over her.

“You know I hate it when you’re unhappy,”

“I know,” she sniffled.

“You know I want to see you smile.”

She shut her eyes and pressed her lips together, overwhelmed by the knowledge of her failure, battling the unforgiving reality of her grief. “I’m sorry, Master,” she whispered.

“Kitten, I want you to stop caring about this,” Reikhard commanded, squeezing his hand harder on her neck.

“I’ve tried,” she whimpered. She really had, couldn’t he believe that?

“Not hard enough,” his voice was cruel in its finality. “I have important work to do. Your moping is highly distracting. Do you understand?”

Her chin wobbled as she opened her eyes, her shoulders heaving upwards with suppressed emotion. “Y-yes Sir, I understand, but – but I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he leant into her face and spoke hard. “I’m a very busy man and I rely on you to take care of the trivialities. Are you telling me that this ridiculousness is more important to you than me?” He knew how that would hurt her and she heard its deliberateness and her eyes welled with tears.

“Never, s-sir, never. But it – it – “

“No buts, Omega. You need to sort out your priorities.”

She felt lashed beneath the coldness of his tongue, how utterly empty it was of sympathy or compassion.

“You’re my number one, Master, I swear it. I swear it,” she babbled entreatingly, gripping his lapels tight with trembling hands. “It just hurts so much – “ her voice cracked and she hunched over on his lap.

He let go her neck and pushed her from him so that she tumbled to the carpet, quaking with mindless grief. He rose to his feet and towered above her, glowering furiously.

“How dare you insult me like this,” he seethed at her.

“I don’t mean to insult you!” she wailed and he hunched over her with clawed hands so that she quailed in fear. “But I can’t help it. I just can’t help it.”

“That’s because you’re pathetic,” he spat at her and she quivered and nodded, her whole body shaking like a dam about to burst. “Pathetic and hopeless, to mourn a woman who never gave you anything when the person who’s given you everything is right here in front of you.”

He was pushing her, pushing her so hard, so unkindly and she was in desperate turmoil.

“So stop it, Omega. Stop it right now. Stop. It.”

Snared between her driving desire to please her Master and the echoing loss of the last remnant of her former life, she could do nothing now but push back:

“I can’t!” she screamed. “I CAN’T!”

The first blow set awful music ringing in her ears.

She had no time to react and then he was upon her, his fists a blur as they rose and fell again and again, connecting brutally with her face and head, her body and limbs. She heard herself shrieking as each blow landed, finally giving voice to the pain that had festered within her all that week.

He was silent and relentless in his punishment, teeth gritted and eyes gleaming bright as he beat her as cruelly as he ever had. She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed, unresisting against the assault, concertedly fighting the instinct to lift her arms up and cover her face, even rising up to meet the blows.

Hot tears poured down her cheeks, blistering her skin and combining with blood. Her chest felt as though it might explode from the pressure of her screams.

Each punch and kick sent shocking new pains erupting up through her body, each one stifling out the other, overcoming it until she was nothing but a resounding mess of indecipherable agony. Her muscles were battered, cringing beneath the abuse, her skin bloomed red and quickly began to blacken.

She choked on her screams as a kick to the ribs knocked the breath from her, sent her head reeling as though it might spin off, and then the world around her was a tremendous blur and she could no longer even see where the blows were coming from, only feel them in their endless reverberation.

Amidst all that pain, something broke and poured out. Beneath the ache she felt a curious beauty well, a sudden and marvellous sense of freedom. For a long while she floated as he beat her, her only motion the jerk of her body in response to each kick or punch, quietly receiving each one, savouring the pain as she became unable to tell where it ended and she began, until they were one. She gasped in delight and began to softly laugh beneath the battering, her voice high and thin, the wheezing peals of her laughter utterly chilling.

Then he stopped.

She lay on the rug, half-curled onto her side, tears still streaming down her cheeks and dripping between her lips as she laughed, the shake of her body causing new tremors of pain to course through her.

It was wonderful.

A moment later and his hand was in her hair, not rough but not gentle either, smoothing down her cheek, over her shoulder and around her back, the fingers digging into her flesh, massaging her abused body. He lifted his hand and repeated the motion and beneath the firm stroking she stilled, and became quiet.

Relief slowly washed through her, spilling gently to every inch of her body, filling her up. As he knelt down and stroked her into calm, the awful and relentless ache that had devoured her from within for so many days was washed cleanly away. All that remained was the slow shuddering of her breath, the thunderous agony gripping her battered body and a quietly perfect sense of peace.

She let her lips part, tasted blood, then let out a slow, shaky breath as he entwined a hand into her hair and dragged her into a sitting position, forcing her to look up at him as he stood upright once more, looming over her like a god. The sting of his hand knotted in her hair harmonised with the aches throbbing across her flesh and she made no more resistance than a tiny sound that made him smile as he gazed upon her with a look in his eyes that was as close to compassion as he could ever get.

“Can you now?” he asked her and it was suddenly easy to smile, though it caused fresh waves of pain across her battered face.

She blinked her swollen eyes at him and nodded, the bruised limpness of her body a lovely thing.

“Good,” he said, then slapped her cheek sharp with his free hand. She shut her eyes as the sting blossomed, rushing out across her face.

“Thank you, Master,” she whispered and the only passion in her voice was now for him.

His smile was suddenly bright and pleased and then he was bending at the waist, lowering his perfect, angular face to hers, capturing her bloodied mouth in a kiss that filled her with a lovely rolling warmth. He lingered there a moment, then lapped the blood gently from her mouth.

“Nobody hurts my kitten but me,” he informed her, straightening up once more and petting her firmly on the head. She beamed up at him, adoring him more absolutely in that moment than she could ever remember, overwhelmed with gratitude. “If your grandmother weren’t already dead, I’d kill her.”

She couldn’t help but laugh.