Love in the Land of Fire (7 page)

“Are you sure about that, Josiah? Do you really not want to keep me locked away, hidden from the outside 3world like every-fucking-body else seems to?”

Josiah has no control over himself as he lunges forward, buries one hand in Rafe’s silky hair and yanks the submissive forward. Their lips meet harshly, all teeth and no finesse and Josiah runs his tongue roughly along the seam of Rafe’s mouth, a pleased growl rumbling in his chest when the he opens for him. Josiah sweeps inside, his tongue tangling hotly with Rafe’s even as he begins to crowd the submissive against the nearest wall.

They fit together perfectly, the long lean plains of Rafe’s body slotting into the more thickly muscled valleys of Josiah’s as if they’d been carved from the same single piece of stone, broken and divided and only now reunited. Josiah groans low in his throat at the feel of Rafe pressed against him and his cock hardens instantly at the combined sensations of touch and taste. Rafe echoes his groan and the sound of pleasure from the submissive doubles Josiah’s arousal, making him helpless to do anything but press closer, driving their bodies together and Rafe further against the wall.

Their tongues slide against and around each other, spit slick and eager to taste, to consume one another.

Josiah knew it would be like this, knew it would be perfect and all-consuming the moment he laid eyes on Rafe. His hand loosens its tight grip in Rafe’s hair and slides slowly through the cool, thick locks to curl firmly around the back of the submissive’s neck, unable to control the impulse to completely dominate the other male. Rafe breaks the kiss, gasping for air and moaning openly as his head tips back, pressing deeper into the grip on his neck and exposing his throat and collar to Josiah’s hungry gaze.

It’s an instinctual move, the desire to show off for a dominant, the urge to entice a fitting and worthy partner with his unclaimed status, and the sight of it has Josiah practically snarling in victory. Rafe wants him as well, wants to be claimed on some level as much as Josiah wants to be the one doing the claiming. If he didn’t, if their desires didn’t match to some degree, Rafe would not respond so beautifully, would not be showing off his collar and trying to entice Josiah into claiming him.

His hand tightens slightly, as his head dips down until he can taste Rafe’s neck, can rack teeth and tongue across the tempting expanse, and suck tiny bruises into the vulnerable skin. He runs his tongue across the smooth surface of the collar, tongue flirting with the inlaid rubies and dragging lightly across the sensitive area where silver meets skin. Rafe bucks against him and Josiah tightens his hand in reprimand, pleased and aroused when he can actually feel Rafe’s knees weaken at the silent command even as the submissive obeys and stills.

Josiah pulls himself away from the mesmerizing taste and feel of Rafe, dragging his lips and tongue up across the exposed side of his neck so that he can whisper hotly in the submissive’s ear.

“Such a good boy, Rafe, such a sweet, beautiful boy. You were made to be ruled, made for me to own.”

He claims Rafe’s mouth in another searing kiss, reveling in the breathless gasp and shaky moan it prompts.

“You’ll be so pretty for me, won’t you? So sweet and delicious when I have you begging, wanting what only I can give you. I can’t wait to have you bare and spread open before me.”

Rafe shudders, a full body tremor that Josiah can feel perfectly, and it goes straight to his cock. He urges Rafe’s arms above his head with his free hand before grasping them both tightly and pinning them back against the wall. He feels Rafe go still against him, the tiny, almost unnoticed rocking of his hips stopping abruptly, but it doesn’t really register with him, doesn’t penetrate the fog of lust and need that’s slowly taking him over.

“P-Please, Josiah.”

3The plea comes out quietly, almost too quietly, and when Josiah hears it he takes it as a plea for more, more touch, more sensation. Just more. So he rocks his body against Rafe’s again as he mouths at the sensitive skin behind his ear. He loves the feel of his cock rubbing against the submissive’s, even muted as it is by the multiple layers of leather and cloth. It’s a heady feeling, something he wants more of even though it’s enough to drive him mad. He wants Rafe bare, wants to feel all of that silky skin against his own as he takes the other man down and apart.

“Oh the things I’ll make you do. I’ll make you love me and what I can give you.”

Josiah isn’t sure what happens. He only knows that Rafe goes from being still to in motion between one breath and the next. The submissive thrashes like a wild thing, his sudden struggling ripping his arms out of Josiah’s hold. Josiah’s too stunned, still buried too deep in his dominant headspace to dodge the punch that lands on his jaw and sends him staggering back a step.

Anger rips through him instantly, anger at Rafe for disobeying him so blatantly, and anger at himself for being caught off guard. He’s on Rafe then, hands grabbing and holding as he struggles to back the submissive against the wall once again. Rafe doesn’t make it easy. He’s a fighter through and through and he’s obviously spooked. He’s highly trained, clearly comfortable with his body, and knows how to move in a fight, but he’s panicking and Josiah is better. Still it takes the blond man a moment or two to get a handle on him, to get him sandwiched tightly between the wall and his own body like before but without the lust and the passion.

Josiah has one hand wrapped around Rafe’s wrists and the other around the front of his throat in a cruel echo of their earlier passion filled embrace. They’re both breathing heavily and Rafe’s eyes are wide with fear, but Josiah can see the panic laced calculations running behind that entrancing green, even as Rafe holds his now caged in body as straight as possible.

His hand tightens warningly around Rafe’s throat when the younger male shifts slightly as if he’s about to make another escape attempt.

“Submit.” Josiah hisses the word out through clinched teeth as he struggles with his own urges, struggles with the need to immediately see to Rafe’s punishment for acting so out of turn.

He sees the moment when fear turns to full-blown panic, sees the terror overtake the dark-haired sub, so he’s ready for the next round of fear-induced struggling. He rides it out, uses his body weight to keep Rafe pressed against the wall and in place. The fear he sees in the other man’s eyes, the terror that’s only growing instead of fading, helps him to lock down on his own desires, that deep-seated need to show Rafe his place as he realizes slowly that something beyond his understanding is taking place.

He loosens his grip on Rafe, watches as the fear retreats a bit but still not far enough for his liking as he forces his expression to soften, for the anger to drain from his features bit by bit.

“Rafe, I’m not going to hurt you. You know that so explain this to me. Tell me what’s wrong.” He gentles his voice, likes the way Rafe softens a bit at the sound of it and is surprised when the submissive immediately begins to talk.

“Noah used to…he would always…” Rafe can’t seem to find his words, can’t seem to form a coherent sentence.

Josiah releases him slowly and takes a step back until he’s no longer touching Rafe at all. He sees the way it helps the submissive calm down, sees how he’s able to get a better grip on himself. Josiah is equal parts pleased that he has such an effect on the man, that he can unsettle Rafe as much as Rafe unsettles him, but he’s displeased that it’s manifesting in such a negative manner. Rafe takes a deep breath and rubs at his wrists before he continues on, a bit calmer than before but still obviously shaken.

3“Noah’s a two and he doesn’t understand that I, people like me and you, subs and doms of higher tiers need the scene, the byplay more often than he does. That it’s different when you’re a four or even a three. He didn’t feel the need for it that often, didn’t have the same desires and needs that I do. But when he did…when he did it was…horrible.” Rafe shudders and Josiah has to stop himself from reaching out to him, from offering comfort that he knows might not be welcome when Rafe is so busy reliving something so obviously unpleasant.

“He’s a sadist, likes the blood and the screams and isn’t much for aftercare. I tried to explain to him and to Mistress Jean that I’m not a masochist, and that we weren’t suited for each other but they wouldn’t listen.

Jean would go on and on about it being my duty, reminding me that our family
owed
Noah a sub and that I was it. I never understood it, could never find any information on anything like that no matter how hard I looked. And Noah, it made him so
angry
and he’d punish me even though we hadn’t entered into a contract yet.”

Rafe looks up then, meets Josiah’s eyes head on and Josiah braces himself, because he knows that what Rafe’s about to say is going to break him.

“When I started fighting back, when it got to be too much, he’d have a few of his guard help him tie me down and he’d tell me…he’d tell me that he was going to
make
me love it,
make
me love him.”

Josiah springs back as if burned, his hands coming up to fist in his own hair to keep himself from doing something else stupid, like reaching for Rafe or punching a hole through the apartment wall. Both of those things were liable to frighten or upset the submissive even more than he already had.

“Rafe. I would never…there’s nothing…fuck! I would never hurt you if you were mine, not like that.

Anything between us would always be consensual and you’d always have the right to truly say no, and if you used your word I’d immediately back off. I’m not like Frisch. I’m not.”

Josiah isn’t sure who he’s trying to convince, himself or Rafe, but the idea of falling into the same category as Frisch makes him want to eat his pistol. He begins to pace back and forth down the narrow hallway, trying his best to ignore the way Rafe’s eyes follow his every movement, all wary watchfulness and alert tension.

“I want you. I’ve made no secret of that fact to anyone. Hell, everyone but you understands that to be a complete truth. So I’m not going to deny that I want you.”

Josiah looks up then and makes eye contact with Rafe, his own dark eyes clashing with Rafe’s green as he tries his best to emphasize just how serious he is.

“But it’s different than what Frisch wanted out of you. You owe me nothing, you owe him nothing, and I don’t see you as anything less than what you are. I want you at my feet and at my side, in each and every way I can get you and a few that I haven’t thought of yet. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t, but I would never do what he did to you. There would be rules, regulations for both of us, things that would be discussed and agreed upon before we entered into a contract.”

Josiah clamps his mouth shut, aware that he’s pleading his case when he probably shouldn’t be. Instead he takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself back down. It’s surprisingly hard to do, further proof of just how twisted up into knots Rafe has managed to get him.

“There are things we need to discuss, the reason why I was so angry about you leaving among them, but now’s not the best time. I’m going to go to my room and I would like for you to stay here. You’re welcome to do anything you want to. Just please don’t leave the apartment.”

He manages to get the words out as calmly and as evenly as he can and he’s relieved when Rafe gives him a 3cautious nod of agreement from his place against the wall. Unable to continue looking at the submissive’s still slightly fearful face without doing something stupid Josiah turns on his heel and strides towards his own bedroom. The door closes behind him with a quiet click and he sinks back against the sturdy wood, an unfamiliar tightness in his chest.

He’d almost made a mistake that would have haunted them both for the rest of their lives.

3
Chapter Ten

Josiah spends the remainder of the night in his room, forcefully resisting the urge to head back out into the rest of the apartment and show Rafe just how tender and unlike Frisch he can be. He doesn’t give into the urge; he stays strong and finally manages to catch a few hours of uneasy sleep somewhere around dawn.

When he drags himself out of bed and stumbles bare chested and bleary eyed into the kitchen he stops abruptly and blinks confusedly for a moment at the sight that greets him.

There’s a truly impressive spread of food across the counter and table, all of it set out as if waiting for him to inspect it. Josiah looks around, vaguely puzzled and feeling as if he’s missed something important, but Rafe is nowhere to be seen. He wanders into the eating area, and sees that the table is laid out for one and that’s where he finds Rafe and he can’t help the way he sucks in his breath harshly at the sight of him.

The submissive is kneeling beside the chair at the head of the table and while that alone is a delicious sight it’s the way he’s dressed that causes Josiah’s cock to harden almost painfully. Rafe’s dressed in the traditional garb of a submissive proposing a contract to a dominant and the sight of it, the message that he’s silently sending, is enough to strain Josiah’s already weak control over his instincts.

Rafe is bare from the waist up, clad only in the thin, form fitting black shorts that are embossed with his family crest in delicate silver stitches. Josiah isn’t sure where he’d managed to get a pair from since he’d arrived with only the clothes on his back and what Josiah himself had purchased for him. He can practically smell Marcel’s involvement in this so he pushes the question to the back of his mind.

His hair has been even more carefully groomed than normal, pampered until it falls in a gleaming silky wave to his glistening and obviously lightly oiled shoulders. His collar has been polished until it shines as bright and pristine as the day it’d first been soldered on. His whole body, from the way he’s dressed to the way his head is bent meekly so that he stares at the floor, is an invitation, one that Josiah is confused about but helplessly drawn to.

His bare feet are nearly silent as he pads across the smooth wooden floor until he’s standing directly in front of Rafe. Almost against his will his hand reaches out and he runs his thick fingers through the heavy fall of Rafe’s silky hair, his eyes drifting closed for a moment at the exquisite feeling of those glorious tresses catching on the calluses that decorate his fingertips. Rafe leans into the touch like a large sleek cat, all fluid movements and deliciously sculpted lines.