The mages master, p.12
The Mage's Master, page 12
part #2 of The Mages Series
“Fine,” he said, out of nowhere, but Fasta knew what he meant, what he was thinking. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
The heat, the life the warmth the pleasure, all seemed to surge Fasta at once, and she couldn’t help a swift grin up at him, breathless and hopeless and hungry. “You will?” she gasped, and in reply she saw him swallow, his arms tightening over his chest.
“With conditions,” he replied, his voice still sharper than she expected. “First off, like you said, I can quit, with no fallout, whenever the hell I want. And second, for payment, I want double what we made last year. And third, I want six months of it up front. Non-refundable, no matter what happens.”
That was a hell of a lot of money, but that was the point, after all, and Fasta nodded, kept her eyes easy, calm. “Fine,” she said. “Anything else?”
She could see his throat convulsing, his eyes briefly closing. “And you have to know, up front,” he said, “the kind of shit this is gonna get into, if you really give me free rein to play these games with you. Because if I’m your master” — he pulled in a shaky breath — “I’m gonna use you, Fasta. I’m going to order you around, I’m gonna fuck you every way I can, I’m gonna spank you until you can’t even sit anymore. I’m gonna embarrass you, and make you beg for me, and push limits you never knew you had. So are you sure” — those eyes fixed on hers, boring into hers — “are you sure you want all that. You agree to all that.”
Fasta’s breath was already coming shallower, a thrill of heat racing down her spine, and she nodded again. “Yes, Harry, I understand, and I agree,” she said, her voice still markedly calm. “Shall I draw up the paperwork?”
“No,” Henrik replied, sharp again. “No. No paperwork. That’s your way, not mine, and if we’re doing this, it’s going to be my way.”
Oh. Another flutter of warmth shot down Fasta’s back, but she nodded again, and Henrik looked away, toward the opposite wall. “But I still want rules,” he said. “And if you break my rules, I’m done with this.”
Fasta blinked, but made herself nod again. “What kind of rules?”
Henrik frowned down at her — she was still kneeling on the floor, with no clothes on, but something whispered at her not to get up, not yet — and he glanced away again, ran a hand through his tousled curls. “We keep it separate,” he said. “From work, and from being friends.”
Fasta nodded again, twisted her fingers in her lap. “How so?”
Henrik swallowed. “Like — this is an agreement, not a relationship. We’re not together, beyond work. So we don’t spread it around. We only do it when we’re alone — either here, or at the cottage. And we don’t talk about work in the bedroom, and vice versa.”
That made sense, Fasta supposed, and she nodded again, but Henrik wasn’t looking, was still frowning toward the wall. “And you don’t call me Harry while we’re doing this,” he said. “You don’t use your magic in this unless I tell you to. You don’t touch me or undress me unless I tell you to. And most of all, you don’t get off unless I tell you to. You don’t even fucking touch these without me.”
With the words he’d waved toward the glass bottle, which had rolled away a little on the floor, and Fasta fought down another firing flare of warmth, tried for another nod.
“And you have to be honest with me,” he continued, harder now. “Always. Both in the bedroom, and out of it. If I ask you to tell me something, you tell me. You don’t hedge, don’t talk around it, don’t try to protect me, nothing. You tell the truth, every fucking time. And especially when we’re doing this. If something actually hurts, or scares you — or even if you decide you wanna stop — you’re gonna tell me, every time. You’re gonna say, no. Stop. And then I stop. Because these kinds of games can get dangerous, and I can’t read your mind. And I sure as hell don’t wanna actually hurt you, or scar you for life with my power-trip shit. Okay? You got that?”
His voice had gone hard as he spoke, his eyes now searching on hers, and Fasta nodded. “Yes, master,” she whispered. “I understand.”
Henrik’s eyes fluttered again, just slightly, but he nodded, too. “Good,” he said. “Now, tell me what you didn’t like about that, just now.”
What she didn’t like. Fasta blinked at him, and opened her mouth to say nothing, it was perfect, wonderful — but then closed it again. Because Henrik was testing her, of course he was, and she pulled in a breath, held his eyes. “Your taste is very strong,” she said, slowly, carefully. “And when you say we’re not together, and no one will know — do you mean that you’ll still — see other people?”
Something grim passed across Henrik’s eyes, something almost like satisfaction. “Yeah, I do mean that,” he replied. “You said I’d have the power in this, and that this is completely professional. So that means you have no say over my personal life. None.”
Oh. Those words felt suddenly, astonishingly painful, the vision behind them even more so, and Fasta had to squeeze her eyes shut, look away. Take deep breaths, count to ten, it would be fine, if Henrik was fucking her on the regular, she could deal with him having the occasional fling. Right?
“Is that a problem?” Henrik said, voice gone thin, cool. “Do you want to call it off?”
Fasta swallowed hard, looked up at his familiar face, his mouth, those eyes. Tried not to imagine him looking at someone else, doing that with someone else, and she swallowed again, tried to think. “Um,” she said, and then counted to ten again, took a shuddery breath. “No. I’ll — deal with it.”
“Good,” he said, and his voice was oddly gruff, and now that was the feel of his hand, brushing brief against her hair. “You can get dressed now.”
Fasta gave a shaky nod, and slowly stood to her unsteady feet. Reaching for where she’d thrown her clothes, and it felt surreal, strange, to have Henrik still standing there, watching her do it. To know that Henrik’s dick had just been in her mouth, and it was hard to even think about, to come to terms with. Hard to look at him, to meet his eyes, to see how much this had changed.
And maybe he was thinking the same thing, standing there so still and silent like that, and Fasta’s thoughts flitted back to where he’d said they had to keep it separate from work, from being friends. Saying, maybe, that he did still want to be friends, so once she’d finished dressing Fasta finally made herself look at him, at those watching unreadable eyes.
“Um, have you eaten?” she asked, in what she hoped was her usual, normal voice. “Because gods damn it, Harry, I’m starving.”
Henrik’s eyes blinked, changed, and the stillness seemed to stretch out wide — but then he nodded and looked away, too quickly. “Right. Yeah. Wanna try for a late supper?”
“Hell, yes,” Fasta replied, with emphasis, even as she reached around him, yanked the door open. “I thought you’d never ask. I can never sweet-talk the cooks into feeding me after hours without you.”
Henrik gave a short laugh as he stepped out the door, and then waved Fasta through before slamming it shut and fastening the latches, all without touching it. “Yeah, because you terrify them, Fass,” he said, as they headed down the stairs together toward the dining-hall. “All that looking down your perfect nose at them, lording your coin over them, using those long-ass words.”
Fasta winced, and despite Henrik’s teasing elbow in her side, she could only manage a halfhearted smile toward him. “I totally lit into Kjaran with all that shit earlier,” she said. “When I first got back here. Used my father, and her pay, and everything else I could possibly think of.”
“I figured,” Henrik said, voice dry, but a sideways glance at him showed his eyes weren’t angry, just resigned. “What’d she say?”
“She was horrible, actually, as usual,” Fasta replied, with a frown. “She flat-out refused to order a proper investigation, and instead put it all on me, because Johan’s gone and involved his uncle, and she doesn’t want this to make her look bad. I did manage to get you a month’s advance on your pay, but beyond that, she basically told me we’re on our own, and I need to do a better job of babysitting you. Oh, and apparently” — she shot him an irritated look — “that new job? It was actually a request straight from the gods-damned Council.”
“Great,” Henrik groaned, giving a roll of his eyes, but again there was no anger, just the light, thrilling touch of his hand to her back as he swung open the dining-hall door. “Go sit, I’ll get supper.”
It was their usual routine, their usual way, and despite her lingering annoyance at Kjaran, Fasta felt herself relaxing as she went to their usual spot in the now-empty room. And watched with reluctant appreciation as Henrik sauntered over to interrupt the cooks’ washing-up, made some cheerful jokes and small talk, and walked away five minutes later with two overflowing plates of food.
“You are incorrigible,” Fasta said, as Henrik plopped one of the plates in front of her, and sat down across the table. “This is enough food for four people, Harry. What the hell did you say to them?!”
“Hey, you were the one who said you were starving,” Henrik said, with satisfaction. “I’m just being considerate. Don’t I even get a thank you?”
Fasta shot him a mock glare — there was no way she was thanking him for being a manipulative flirt — and he replied with a swift, teasing grin. “You like it,” he said. “And you know what? You’re gonna eat all of that. Or else.”
Or else. Oh, gods. The room seemed to catch, to tilt, but when Fasta blinked across the table Henrik was all innocence, spearing some green beans on his fork. While her body was still twitching, still trying to breathe, to come back from that. To get away from visions of herself on the floor, on her knees, with his cock in her mouth.
“Thought you wanted to keep it separate,” she managed, a little breathless, giving him a light kick under the table. “Didn’t you?”
Henrik glanced up, and the look he gave her was furtive, warm, strange. Even as his foot kicked her back under the table, and stayed there.
“No idea what you’re on about, Fass,” he said lightly. “Now are you eating, or what?”
Fasta ate.
13
Henrik slept in Fasta’s bed that night.
It was the first time they’d ever done such a thing, in all the time they’d known each other. But after they’d finished eating, and Henrik’s eyes had lingered on Fasta’s empty plate, she’d managed to dredge up the nerve, or the foolishness, or something.
“Look, Harry,” she’d said, keeping her eyes carefully on the table, “thinking about how Kjaran said you shouldn’t be hanging around alone at night — I was wondering if maybe you should — stay with me. For a while.”
The last words came out in a rush, fast enough that she thought maybe Henrik hadn’t heard them — but then his eyes lifted, held hers, and he gave a slow sigh. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe.”
It meant that five minutes later he was there, clicking the latches into place on her door, while Fasta watched, not saying aloud what they were both thinking. That this was as much to keep Henrik trapped inside than anything, a way for Fasta to be able to say to a truth-seer, No, we locked the door, I was with him the entire time, all night long.
But Henrik still didn’t seem angry or impatient, the way Fasta had maybe expected him to be. Just quieter than usual, more thoughtful, and when Fasta asked what he liked to wear to bed, he just waved down at the clothes he was wearing, and shrugged.
Fasta hated wearing day clothes to bed, and had already had her silk sleeping-shift in hand, eyeing the adjoining water-closet — but Henrik had dropped himself down onto her suddenly small-looking bed, and made a swift, all-too-clear gesture with his hand. Put it on, it said. Right here.
So Fasta changed into it, her cheeks burning, while he watched. But he didn’t speak, didn’t hint at anything anywhere close to what they’d done before. Keeping it separate again, maybe, but it didn’t quite feel separate as Fasta slowly walked over to the bed, wearing only that thin silk sleeping-shift, and looked down at those grey eyes.
Henrik shifted over at that, lying down and making room, so Fasta lay down too, taking care to leave a respectable distance between them. But then there was the glorious, impossible feeling of Henrik’s arm, settling heavy over her waist, and pulling her body close.
They slept like that, with Fasta’s back curled against Henrik’s broad chest, with him snoring softly into her hair. And it was so strange, so stilted and precious, somehow, that Fasta almost didn’t want to sleep, just wanted to lie there and revel in it, the close warm wonderful safety of it. Of being in bed with Henrik Hallen, the one guy — Fasta’s breath shuddered, faltered in the dark — who was everything, who’d always been everything, since that very first day he’d walked onto her job site.
Morning came slow and quiet, and way too late. Fasta was usually an early riser, but the last few days had been shite for sleeping, and sleeping in Henrik’s arms somehow seemed far easier, far more relaxing, than sleeping alone ever did. And when Fasta finally yawned and rolled over, Henrik was actually already awake, his hair loose and tousled on the pillow, his eyes lazy and content on hers.
“Finally awake?” he asked, husky. “Thought you were always up at the crack of dawn.”
Fasta stuck out her tongue at him, but couldn’t help a slow, warm smile, especially when he gave her arse a sharp little slap in return. And then left his hand there, letting his fingers spread wider, and Fasta could already feel her breath catching, her heart beating faster in her chest.
“You like it in the mornings?” he murmured, and it took Fasta an instant too long to realize what he meant. Sex, was what he meant, and the heat seemed to thrill her all over, surging from her head to her feet.
“Maybe,” she whispered, her heartbeat pounding even louder, her eyes trapped on his. “You?”
His mouth quirked up, and that hand on her arse spread a little wider. “Wouldn’t say no,” he replied. “But fair warning, I’m a lazy shit in bed in the mornings.”
Henrik had always been the opposite of a morning person, in all the years they’d worked together, and Fasta couldn’t help a choked laugh, a roll of her eyes. “You don’t say. I’m shocked, Harry.”
And damn it, she wasn’t supposed to be calling him Harry in this, but he didn’t seem to notice, only gave her a snide smirk. And then raised his eyebrows at her, like he was waiting to see what she would do next, and Fasta gave a pointed glance downwards, toward where his still-clothed body was well hidden under her blanket.
“Thought I wasn’t supposed to touch the clothes,” she said. “Or are mornings exempt?”
He actually seemed to consider that, his forehead furrowing, and finally he shrugged, gave an imperious wave toward the blanket. “Somewhat exempt,” he said. “Enough to get the job done, at least.”
Get the job done. The heat was swirling again, pounding louder with every thud of Fasta’s heartbeat, and she carefully slid her hand toward him, under the blanket. And there — her eyes closed, her breath coming sharp — there he was, so thick and hard below the cloth of his trousers. Wanting this, actually wanting her, and Fasta still couldn’t quite believe it, couldn’t quite breathe.
But his eyes were easy, maybe even warm, on hers, and Fasta drew in a shuddery breath, and yanked the blanket downwards. Revealing his bulging trousers beneath, and her fumbling fingers were already going for the drawstring, pulling out the knot, and then — she had to drag in more air, more courage — reaching inside, and pulling him out, into the dappled morning light.
Gods, he was gorgeous, and Fasta’s whole awareness had seemed to draw in, close and tight and breathless. Just looking at this, experiencing this, the strange incongruous impossible sight of Henrik Hallen, sprawled casually in her bed, with his pants pulled down, his thick hard cock jutting out, thick and ruddy and veined all over. Waiting for Fasta to touch it, to actually take it inside her, and she couldn’t seem to stop staring, couldn’t make her brain work again.
“Havin’ second thoughts?” Henrik’s low voice asked, making Fasta’s eyes dart up. To where he was watching her, his eyes distant and careful. Like he was actually worried. Thinking, maybe, that she didn’t want to do this.
Fasta managed a shaky laugh, a wave of her unsteady hand. “No,” she breathed. “Gods, no. Just — looking. Wishing I could see the rest of you.”
She couldn’t help a hopeful glance at his tunic, and if she wasn’t mistaken, Henrik’s cheeks actually flushed rather pink — but he didn’t make any move to take the tunic off, or push down his pants any further. “Too bad,” he said. “This is all you’re getting, babe.”
Babe. The heat surged low and sharp, and even harder when Henrik’s hand reached over, tugged a little at Fasta’s shift. “You, though,” he said, soft, “never fuck me with your clothes on.”
Damn. Fasta had to search for composure, take a long breath, because it was one of those power things again, a way for Henrik to be in charge, even as he lounged here and made her do all the work. And it was almost shocking how arousing it was, how desperately she wanted this, needed this.
She’d already pulled herself up to sitting, enough to yank the shift off, over her head. Leaving her kneeling here naked beside him, looking down at his still-clothed body, but for that exposed hard cock.
Henrik watched it all, his eyes openly lingering on her now, looking almost appreciative as they flicked up and down. While the rest of him shifted on the bed, stretching out flat on his back, putting his muscled arms up behind his head. Like he was just going to lie back and watch this, gods curse him, and even as Fasta made a face at him she was almost shaking, her heart pounding so loud she was sure he had to hear it.
“C’mon, then,” he said, with a nod, his voice gentler than she’d expected. “Wanna see you take it.”
It was enough to make Fasta nod too, and force her suddenly strange-feeling body over him, one leg on either side of his hips. Exposing herself to him, her thoughts shouted, too loudly, and what if he didn’t like what he saw — but she squeezed her eyes shut again, tried to breathe. He’d already seen it all, in way more graphic detail than this. He liked her looking like this. She could do this. She wanted this.
