The silence stretches.
"Touch them, Jino."
I shouldn't command him. That's not how this works. Subs don't give orders.
But he's not treating me like a sub right now. He's treating me like his... friend. His broken bird. His project.
And that's not who I want to be.
"Touch my welts," I say again, clearer this time. "Care for them, if you're worried. Isn't that your job? Aftercare?"
A pause. Then?—
His lips press against the first welt.
Soft. Reverent.
I bite my lip so hard I taste copper.
He kisses the second one. The third. Tracing each mark with his mouth like he's reading braille, learning the story of Giovanni's violence written on my skin.
"They're hot," he murmurs against my flesh.
"They're perfect."
Another kiss. Lower this time.
"They hurt," he says.
"They remind me." My voice is muffled by the mattress. "They remind me how good it felt when Giovanni stood over me. When he cleared my demerits. When he owned me completely."
Jino's breath ghosts across my skin.
Then his hands move. Spreading my legs. "Is this what you want?" His voice is rough. "My tongue? My fingers? Everything Giovanni won't give you?"
"Yes." The word comes out as a gasp. "Please. Show me?—"
His mouth finds me before I can finish the sentence.
And sweet fucking Christ, the man knows what he's doing.
His tongue moves with precision. Deliberate. Calculated. Like he's solving a puzzle and I'm the final piece.
Circling my clit. Dipping inside. Retreating. Advancing.
Building sensation the way an architect builds a cathedral—one perfect stone at a time.
I writhe against the mattress. Hands gripping for purchase, finding nothing but hard vinyl.
"Stay still." The command vibrates against my core.
I freeze.
"Good girl."
Those two words. God. They do something to my brain chemistry that probably requires FDA approval.
His tongue continues its work. Patient. Thorough. Absolutely devastating in its competence. He spreads my legs open wider, lifting my hips up to give him better access. I'm going to come. Again. Already.