Cassandra

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Sitting there like you’re being good.”

Your face heats.

“I am being good.”

His eyebrows lift.

“You are? That’s interesting. Because good puppies usually greet me at the door.”

You swallow.

“I was waiting.”

“Mm.” He steps closer, the toe of his shoe nearly touching your knee. “That sounds like an excuse.”

“It’s not.”

“No?” His voice stays gentle, almost conversational, which somehow makes it worse. “You put the collar on all by yourself, sat in here looking cute, and then decided I should be the one to come find you.”

You glare up at him, but it has no real force behind it, causing him to tilt his head.

“Careful,” he says softly.

Your stomach flips.

He crouches in front of you, close enough that you can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw despite shaving this morning. His fingers hook lightly under the ring at the front of your collar—not pulling, just reminding you of where you belong. Or rather, who you belong to.

“There you are,” he says, quieter. “Hi, puppy.”

Something inside you melts so fast it’s humiliating.

“Hi,” you whisper.

Ryland’s mouth curves.

“Oh, that was sweet.” His thumb brushes the edge of the collar. “See? You can be polite when you try.”

You make a small, offended noise.

He laughs under his breath. “I know, I know. Very mean of me to notice.”

“You’re mean.”

“Not really.” His eyes soften for half a second. “You know I’m not.”

You do, that’s why this works.

Ryland would stop at the first wrong breath. One look, one word, and the whole tone would vanish. He checks in with you before and after, awkwardly earnest and careful in a way that makes your heart ache.

Yet in the middle of it he can be just condescending enough to make you squirm.

His fingers slip from your collar to your chin, tilting your face up.

“What do good puppies do when I get home?” he asks.

You know the answer, although it doesn't make saying it easier as your cheeks burn.

“They greet you.”

“Mhm.” His thumb moves once along your jaw. “And?”

You look away.

Ryland clicks his tongue softly, causing your eyes to snap back to his so instinctively.

“There we go,” he murmurs. “Don’t get shy now. You were bold enough to put yourself on the floor before I even walked in.”

Your thighs press together. His gaze flicks down, then back up. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“That’s what this is, isn't it?”

“Huh?”

“You wanted me to find you like this.” His voice warms, sweet and patronizing. “Poor thing. Just waiting here, hoping I’d know what to do with you.”

You hate the noise that leaves you.

Ryland’s hand stills under your chin.

His eyes search your face for one second, making sure. The moment he sees what he needs, his expression eases back into that fond, terrible amusement.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s it.”

He stands.

You have to tilt your head back to keep looking at him.

“Come here,” he says.

You start to rise when his eyebrow lifts.

You stop.

Oh.

Your face flames.

Ryland waits, patient and insufferable.

“You can do better than that,” he points lazily toward the space in front of him, “Come here, puppy.”

It should be embarrassing, it is embarrassing.

This does not stop you from moving, however.

You crawl the short distance to him, heart racing and all of your skin feeling his eyes on you. He watches, looking as though he cannot look away.

You finally reach him and sit back on your knees.

The first stroke of his hand through your hair is gentle, your eyes flutter despite yourself.

“There,” he murmurs. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You want to complain. You really do.

Instead, you lean into his hand.

Ryland’s breath catches faintly.

He covers it quickly, but you hear it.

You smile.

His fingers tighten lightly in your hair.

“Don’t look smug,” he says. “You’re the one on the floor.”

Your smile dies instantly.

He laughs, soft and delighted. “That’s what I thought.”

“Ryland.”

“Careful,” he says again, but there is affection threaded through every syllable. “You remember your color?”

You nod. “Green.”

“And if you need me to slow down?”

“Yellow.”

“And stop?”

“Red.”

“Good puppy.”

The praise hits low and hot, which he sees too.

“Wow,” he says, almost wonderingly. “You are easy tonight.”

You groan, covering your face with both hands.

He gently catches your wrists and pulls them down.

“No hiding.” His voice is quieter now. “I like seeing what I do to you.”

You bite your lip.

His gaze drops to your mouth.

For a second, the room changes.

Then Ryland crouches again, bringing himself closer to your level. He holds your wrists loosely, thumbs brushing over your pulse points.

“Can I kiss my puppy?” he asks.

The tenderness of it knocks the breath out of you.

You nod, which causes him to give you a look.

“Yes,” you say quickly. “Please.”

“That’s better.”

He kisses you softly at first, almost sweetly enough to make you forget the game entirely. Almost. Then he tugs lightly at your collar and you gasp against his mouth.

Ryland hums.

“There it is,” he says.

You chase him when he pulls back.

He leans away just enough to make you miss.

“No,” you complain.

“No?” His eyes brighten. “That’s not very polite.”

“Please kiss me.”

Ryland pretends to consider it, which is honestly cruel.

Then he smiles.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

The second kiss is deeper. Warmer. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers curling around the collar, and the little pressure of it makes your head go pleasantly empty. You rise onto your knees, pressing closer.

Ryland lets you.

…For a moment.

Then he pulls back and taps your nose with one finger.

“Greedy.”

You glare, making him utterly delighted.

“Very greedy,” he corrects. “I give you one kiss, and suddenly you’re climbing all over me.”

“You gave me two kisses.”

“Oh, excuse me.” He strokes your hair again, patronizing and sweet. “Clearly I’ve spoiled you.”

He guides you backwards till you are once again seated, and then moves away towards the bed. You see him seat himself at the end of the bed, spreading his legs and placing his hands on his knees. Sweet and carefree, like he has plenty of time to break you down.

He pats his thigh.

“Come on.”

You hesitate for exactly one second, and his eyes narrow slightly.

“Don’t make me ask twice.”

Your body moves before your pride can object.

You crawl towards him and find yourself between his knees. His hand moves again into your hair, stroking slowly and surely, and you relax into his leg, giving off a gentle sigh.

Ryland’s expression shifts.

The condescension softens around the edges, becoming something aching and fond.

“There’s my sweet puppy,” he murmurs. “You just needed attention, don’t you?”

You press your cheek against his thigh, too far gone to pretend otherwise.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he echoes, amused. “Sure.”

You pinch his leg lightly.

He catches your hand immediately.

“Ah.” His voice drops. “No biting.”

“I didn’t bite.”

“No, but you were thinking about it.”

You look up at him.

Ryland smiles.

“I know that face.”

“You do not.”

“I absolutely do. That is your ‘I want to be difficult so Ryland will do something about it’ face.”

Your mouth falls open.

“That is not a face.”

“It is. Very specific. Very cute.”

“It hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” His hand cups your cheek. “You’re practically wagging your tail.”

The noise you make is mortifying.

Ryland’s thumb drags over your lower lip.

His voice lowers. “Oh, puppy liked that one.”

You couldn't deny it if you tried.

He leans down until his mouth is near your ear.

“My sweet puppy,” he murmurs. “So smart all day. So sharp. Arguing with everyone, correcting my math, terrifying interns.”

You shiver.

“And then you come home and get all soft for me.”

Your eyes close while his fingers stroke under your chin.

“Look at me.”

You do.

His face is unbearably gentle, thumb pressing lightly at your mouth.

Not forcing, but waiting.

Your lips part.

Ryland’s breath catches again, less hidden this time.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Very good.”

He lets you mouth at his thumb for only a second before pulling it away, leaving you dazed and wanting. He smiles like he knows exactly what he’s done.

“Patience,” he says.

You whine, causing you to cover your face again, but he catches your wrists before you can hide properly.

“No, no.” His eyes are dark now, but still warm. “Don’t be embarrassed. That was adorable.”

“Ryland.”

“It was.” He kisses your forehead. “A little pathetic, maybe.”

You squirm.

His smile sharpens.

“There we go.” He sounds far too pleased with himself. “You like pathetic.”

“I do not.”

“No?” He trails his fingers down the side of your neck, brushing the collar. “So if I said you were being a needy little thing right now, that wouldn’t do anything for you?”

You say nothing, his smile grows.

“I love you like this. All sweet and needy on the floor, pretending you’re not desperate for me to tell you what to do.”

The emotion in your chest drops straight back into heat.

“Ryland,” you breathe.

He hums. “There it is.”

His fingers brush under your collar to draw you slightly nearer to him.

And now when you go into his arms, he allows you to climb onto his lap. And his hands hold on to you right away; one of them grips your back while the other grabs your waist, keeping you near while you hide your face in his neck.

You can smell the aroma of coffee and laundry coming from him.

For some time, he strokes you in silence. Gentle strokes on your hair, words of endearment almost inaudible.

“So good for me.”

“My sweet thing.”

“Look at you, getting all quiet now.”

“Poor puppy. Big brain finally turned off?”

A low noise falls out of your throat as he kisses you and he laughs before kissing you again; this time, he doesn’t pull away from you when you chase after him.

He lets you continue.

Lets you kiss him roughly, lets the noises fall from your lips as you kiss him roughly. You try to grind against him when his hand holds you still.

His lips are flushed. His glasses askew. His eyes warm and dark with pleasure.

“Ah,” he says softly. “There it is.”

You blink at him, breathless. “What?”

“You were being so good.” His thumb rubs a small circle at your waist. “Then you got greedy.”

Your face burns. “I didn’t.”

“No?”

“No.”

Ryland tilts his head. “So that wasn’t you trying to rub yourself on me like a needy little puppy?”

Your stomach drops in the best, worst way.

You open your mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Ryland’s smile turns devastatingly gentle.

“Oh,” he murmurs. “That’s what I thought.”

You hide your face in his neck with a groan.

He laughs softly, fingers combing through your hair.

“No, no. Don’t hide now. You were brave enough to do it.”

“Ryland.”

“Mm?”

“You’re being mean.”

“Am I?” His hand slides slowly up your back, soothing even as his voice stays patronizing. “I think I’m being very nice. I noticed what my puppy wanted, didn’t I?”

You shiver, before nodding.

“Good puppy.”

The words go through you like a spark.

You try to press closer again, but his hand holds you still.

“Uh-uh.”

You whine before you can stop yourself.

His eyes darken.

“There’s that sound again,” he murmurs. “You’re getting very comfortable with that.”

“I hate you.”

His mouth brushes your cheek. Then your jaw. Then the place just below your ear that makes your fingers tighten in his shirt.

“You want attention,” he says against your skin. “That’s all. Poor thing came to me so wound up and needy, and now you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

You swallow hard.

“I don’t know what to do with myself.”

He exhales slowly, like the answer pleases him almost too much.

“That’s okay,” he says. “I know what to do with you.”

Your whole body goes soft.

Ryland notices that too. His smile fades into something tender for half a second, and he kisses you once, gentle enough to ground you.

Then he pats your hip.

“On the bed.”

You move too quickly, because his eyebrows lift.

You stop halfway up.

He laughs softly.

“Excited?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

You crawl back onto the bed anyway, and he watches every second of it with an attentive eye. It makes you feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with clothing.

“Sit,” he says.

You sit near the pillows, legs tucked under you.

Ryland stands, stretching just enough that his shirt pulls tight across his chest. You hate him for that. A little. He catches you staring and smiles.

“Really subtle.”

“Shut up.”

His eyes sharpen.

You realize your mistake instantly.

Ryland goes still, staring at you amused. Oh no.

“Oh,” he says.

You swallow.

He takes one slow step toward the bed. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“No, I heard something.” Another step. “Sounded like my sweet puppy forgot how to behave.”

Your pulse jumps.

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t tell me to shut up?”

You stare at the blanket.

Ryland sits on the edge of the bed, close but not touching you.

“Look at me.”

You do.

His expression is calm. Almost gentle.

“That mouth is getting you in trouble tonight.”

You bite your lip.

His gaze drops.

“Don’t do that unless you want me to do something about it.”

You release your lip.

Ryland’s smile flickers.

“Good choice.”

Now the air is too hot, too dense. The collar rests comfortably around your neck. You feel Ryland’s eyes drift down toward it compulsively.

He reaches out and grabs hold of the leash resting on the bedside table, clipping it to the ring on your collar.

He gives the leash the gentlest tug, barely enough to move you.

“Come here.”

Your instincts draw you towards him and you crawl forward on the bed until you're near enough for him to grab hold.

"That’s better," he lifts your chin with two fingers. "You see how nice it is when you listen?"

Your body melts all over again when he kisses you.

The leash dangles loosely in his other hand, but the mere weight of it causes your head to feel light. The control you've handed him in knowing that he'll take care of you.

The warmth of Ryland's mouth grows hotter as you feel his tongue move against your own. One hand finds its way around your waist, pulling you close until you find yourself straggling him, the chain of your collar yanking lightly when your hands tip into his hair.

As you try to grind against him, he tightens the leash slightly.

He pulls back, tutting, “Greedy puppy.”

He touches your body gently, taking his time. From your waist. Your back. Your thighs, as he settles you in his lap once more. His hands do not tighten around the leash he holds, keeping it in his grasp but always loose enough that you cannot help but drift off into dreams.

“You’re quiet now,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You nod.

“Big difference from earlier.”

You hide your face against his shoulder.

He chuckles. “Oh, that embarrassed you?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

He strokes down your back. “It’s sweet. I like when you get quiet.”

You mumble something into his shirt.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Mm.” He scratches lightly at the nape of your neck, just beneath the collar. Your eyes almost roll back. “Poor puppy. Too gone to argue properly.”

You make a small sound.

His arm tightens around you.

“There you go,” he whispers. “That’s it.”

It should feel humiliating, being read this easily. It should make you defensive. It would, with anyone else. But it’s Ryland.

“You want to lie down?”

You nod against him.

“Words.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

You pull back enough to look at him, face hot.

“Yes, sir.”

Ryland’s smile is slow and devastating.

“Good puppy.”

He eases you down onto the bed with ridiculous care, like you are made of glass and also somehow the most tempting thing he has ever seen. You settle back against the pillows, the leash trailing from your collar to his hand.

Eventually, you find yourself with your shirt bunched up above your rib cage, Ryland moving his mouth at a leisurely pace over your belly that is now exposed to him.

As you bring your hand up to your face, the leash tightens slightly, but not hard enough to hurt.

“No hiding.”

You lower your hand.

He kisses just below your ribs, smiling against your skin. “There’s my brave puppy.”

You’re shaking now from the praise—the teasing and the unbearable patience of him. He keeps you balanced there, right on the edge of too much, watching every breath like he’s collecting data.

“My good puppy,” he murmurs. “I knew you could behave.”

He says it like he’s proud.

Like the entire night was just one big test to confirm what he already knew, that under all your efficiency and edginess lies something tender and desirous, softening the moment he drops his tone.

“You’re thinking too much again.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” His mouth drifts higher, brushing beneath your jaw. “I can practically hear it. Very loud in there.”

You huff, but it comes out weak.

Ryland lifts his head. “Poor thing.”

Your eyes narrow.

He smiles and taps one finger lightly against your temple. “Big, brilliant brain. Always working. Always trying to stay in charge.”

You swallow. His hand slides to your collar, thumb hooking beneath the edge.

“And then I do this.”

A tiny tug, and your eyelashes flutter.

“And suddenly there’s nothing going on up there at all.”

You practically whimper.

The second time he kisses you, there is no pretending that you aren’t starving for this kiss. You wrap yourself around him and sigh softly in response to his kisses while he sets the rhythm and control with a mere pressure on the leash and the gentle touch on your waist.

After some time, he pulls back and positions himself on the headboard, taking you along and resting you against his chest while you are positioned with your back facing him. He holds you gently in his arms, and the leash hangs loosely across your collarbone.

He kisses the side of your head. “You’re very quiet now.”

You hum.

His mouth brushes your ear. “Too much?”

You shake your head.

He accepts it, but his hand smooths over your stomach anyway, grounding and warm.

“Just gone?”

You nod.

His lips curve against your temple. “Yeah. I can tell.”

You should be embarrassed, yet you feel so happy right where you are.

For a while, he just holds you. One hand strokes slow patterns against your side, the other touching the collar now and then, like he still can’t quite believe you trust him with it.

“My spoiled puppy,” he says, the edge returning. “Getting held. Getting kissed. Getting praised. You’d let me keep you here all night, wouldn’t you? Soft and needy and useless in my lap.”

His legs spread yours apart. One hand moves down your stomach, slipping beneath the edge of your shorts, past your underwear.

“Gonna get you ready,” he says against your ear, low and certain. “Then I’m going to bend you over and fill you up. Gonna take my stupid, useless puppy and make sure she remembers what she’s good for.”

You can’t answer. You can only sit there in his lap, legs held open by his, collar snug around your throat, leash loose across your chest while his hand rests exactly where you need it.

“Poor puppy,” he says softly. “I say one mean thing and you just disappear on me.”

You whine,and his fingers press enough to make your hips twitch.

“Shh.” His other hand tightens around the leash. “No. You don’t get to squirm around and make a mess of yourself already.”

His fingers keep working you open with humiliating patience, slow enough that you want to sob, steady enough that you can’t help melting into it. You try to move your hips, just a little, just enough to get more.

Ryland stops immediately.

“No.”

You make a broken sound.

“No,” he repeats. “Greedy puppies don’t get to take. They get what they’re given.”

“Please.”

“Oh, now you remember that word.” His voice is sweet enough to sting. “Convenient.”

“Ryland, please.”

His breath catches.

Only for a second.

Then his mouth is at your jaw, kissing you there like a reward he didn’t mean to give.

“You’re lucky you sound cute when you beg.”

You barely hear yourself answer. “I can be good.”

Ryland stills.

Then he laughs softly into your skin.

“Oh, puppy. That was almost convincing.”

His hand slips out of your shorts, leaving you empty and aching. You whine at the loss.

You twist toward him, desperate, but the leash tightens.

Not enough to hurt.

Enough to stop you.

“Stay.”

You stop.

Instantly.

Ryland’s eyes darken.

The silence is hot and thick and unbearable.

He looks at you like he’s discovered something wonderful.

“There,” he whispers. “That’s what you’re good for.”

You shiver so hard his arm tightens around your waist.

“Listening,” he says, almost tenderly. “Obeying. Letting me make you feel good because you’re too needy and sweet to do it properly yourself.”

Your face feels far too hot, and you double down in the embarrassment with a nod of your head. Ryland’s mouth parts slightly, for a moment, the control slips. Just a crack, enough for you to see how badly he wants this, how much restraint he’s burning through to keep his hands gentle and his voice steady.

Then he pulls himself together.

“On your knees.”

You move too fast, scrambling out of his lap and onto the bed, turning over on your hands and knees before he can tell you twice. Your pulse pounds. The collar shifts against your throat. The leash drags over the sheets.

Behind you, Ryland goes silent.

You look back.

He’s staring.

Glasses crooked. Hair mussed from your fingers. Mouth slightly open.

Wrecked.

The satisfaction that sparks in you lasts about one second before his eyes lift to yours.

“Proud of yourself?” he asks softly.

You freeze.

His mouth curves. “Oh, you are. That’s cute.”

He comes closer, kneeling behind you, and winds the leash once around his hand.

“Eyes forward.”

You obey.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Acting like you weren’t just falling apart in my lap.”

You press your forehead into the sheets.

“No hiding.” A tug.

You lift your head again, breath shaky.

“Good puppy.”

You melt.

Ryland laughs under his breath. “That’s all it takes now? Two words?”

You don’t answer.

He leans over you, chest pressing to your back, mouth near your ear.

“Poor thing,” he whispers. “You really are gone.”

You nod before you can stop yourself.

His hand tightens on your hip.

“Yeah,” he says, rougher. “I know.”

Your waist, your thighs – anywhere where your shirt has risen to – his fingertips travel. He kisses first the space between your shoulder blades, then your neck, then finally the leather of your collar once more.

When he finally manages to get your shorts off your legs, you’re trembling.

He stops, his palm splayed on your back.

“So pretty,” he says, too soft for the role and too honest to take back.

Your throat tightens.

Then, as if realizing he has been kind for too long, his fingers curl around the leash.

“Ask.”

“Please,” you whisper.

“Please what?”

“Please use me.”

Ryland goes utterly still.

Then finally, finally, he gives you what you asked for.

He pushes into you slowly, one hand tight on your hip, the other holding the leash with careful control. The stretch makes your mouth fall open. Your arms shake. A helpless sound tears out of you, and Ryland stops halfway with a curse under his breath.

You try to push back.

His grip tightens.

“No,” he says, voice rough. “You take what I give you.”

Your head drops.

He tugs the leash once, gentle but firm.

“Up.”

You lift yourself, trembling.

“There.” His voice is wrecked now, but still controlled. “Good puppy. You can do that much.”

Deeper and deeper he presses, careful enough to let you feel everything and making the world consist of just his hands, his voice, and the collar around your neck. When he bottoms out, he holds himself there.

Then he lets his hand travel up your back, a gesture that looks like reverence.

“There you go,” he whispers. “Look at you taking me.”

You make a small, broken sound.

His hips draw back.

Then forward.

Slow.

Deep.

Controlled.

Your whole body jolts.

Ryland groans.

“Yeah,” he says, low and mean again. “That’s what you needed.”

Answering is impossible. All you can do is cling to the bed covers while you endure him as he begins to thrust, every thrust deliberate and destructive. One hand remains on the lead, but it is only used to direct you, to ensure your head is kept raised.

“You were impossible all day,” he murmurs. “Mouthy. Sharp. So sure of yourself.”

His hips snap forward harder.

You cry out.

“And now?” he asks. “Now look at you.”

You whimper.

“Can’t even talk back.”

You shake your head.

“No, you can’t.” He sounds pleased. Wrecked and pleased. “My poor stupid puppy. Finally found something to do with that mouth besides argue.”

A strangled moan leaves you.

Ryland’s rhythm falters.

“Holy-” He cuts himself off with a breathless laugh. “You liked that.”

You nod into the sheets, shameless now.

He leans over you, chest pressing to your back, thrusts slower but deeper.

“You like being my stupid puppy?”

“Yes.”

His mouth brushes your ear.

“Say it.”

Your face burns hotter than it has all night, but you’re too far gone to refuse.

“I’m your stupid puppy.”

Ryland’s groan is filthy and helpless.

“That’s right,” he whispers. “Mine.”

The word makes you clench around him.

He curses, hand tightening on your hip.

“Oh, that did it.” His laugh is breathless and unsteady. “That’s the one, huh? Mine?”

“Yours,” you gasp. “Yours, yours-”

“Yeah.” His voice drops into something possessive and tender all at once. “You are.”

He fucks you harder then, still careful, still reading every sound, but with the neat edge of his control finally cracking. The bed shifts beneath you. Your thoughts break apart into heat and pressure and Ryland’s voice in your ear.

“Good puppy.”

“So good.”

“Taking it so well.”

“That’s what you’re good for tonight, isn’t it?”

“Just letting me use you.”

You cry into your pillow, and Ryland lets out a pained sound from behind you. His movements feel as though he’s trying to make sure your entire body serves as evidence of how well he knows you. The leash remains in his grip, slack yet there, pulling on you each time you lower your head.

“Up.”

You lift your head.

“Good puppy.”

Your eyes roll back.

“Jesus,” he breathes, half laughing. “You’re so easy.”

You shake your head weakly, because some tiny, ruined part of you still insists on arguing.

Ryland sees it.

Of course he does.

His hand slips around to your front, fingers pressing low against your stomach as he pulls you back against him.

“No?” he murmurs. “You’re not easy?”

You can’t think.

“Then why do you do exactly what I tell you?”

Your mouth falls open.

“Why do you melt every time I praise you?” His hips snap forward, sharper now. “Why did you crawl across the floor for me before I even touched you?”

You whimper, shaking beneath him.

Ryland’s voice lowers.

“Because you’re easy for me.”

The words land like a hand around your throat.

Not touching.

Not choking.

Just claiming the air.

You nod helplessly.

His laugh breaks into a groan.

“There it is.” He kisses your shoulder. “At least you know.”

You try to push back again, greedy and desperate, and his hand instantly tightens on the leash.

You freeze.

Ryland clicks his tongue.

“Did I say you could do that?”

“No,” you breathe.

“No,” he agrees, almost gentle. “You don’t get to take. You don’t get to decide. You don’t get to make yourself come on me like some spoiled little thing who thinks she’s in charge.”

You make a broken sound.

He presses closer, hips stilling just enough to make you ache.

“You come when I tell you to.”

Your fingers curl hard in the sheets.

His hand strokes down your back once.

Then he grips your hips and starts moving again, harder than before.

You cry out.

“There we go,” he pants. “That’s my good puppy.”

The words ruin you.

His stride isn’t clinical anymore. His stride isn’t patient anymore. He’s still being cautious, still paying attention, but that caution has been stripped down to desperation. He pulls on the lead to make sure that you’re right where he wants you, never hurting, always guiding you until your hands start to shake and your voice breaks.

“That’s it,” he mutters. “Take it.”

You do.

Because he told you to.

Because his hands are firm and his voice is in your ear and your brain has gone syrup-thick and obedient.

“My useless puppy,” he says, panting now. “Can’t even keep still.”

You nod frantically.

“Can’t even answer properly.”

“No,” you sob.

“No,” he echoes, pleased. “Just made to be held down and fucked stupid.”

The sound you make is embarrassing.

Ryland groans, hips stuttering for the first time.

“God, you like that too.” His voice is almost accusing. “Of course you do. Of course my brilliant, insufferable, terrifying girl wants to be called stupid while she’s taking me.”

Your thoughts scatter completely.

His hand slides beneath you again, fingers finding you with devastating accuracy.

You nearly collapse.

He catches you by the leash.

“Up.”

“I can’t-”

“You can.” His voice turns stern, and your body obeys before your mind can. “Come on. Don’t get lazy now.”

You lift yourself on shaking arms.

Ryland makes a pleased sound.

“That’s better. You can fall apart when I say.”

His fingers move against you in time with his thrusts, and the pressure is sudden, exact, unbearable.

“Ryland- sir- please-”

“Oh, listen to that.” His mouth is at your ear again. “Now she has manners.”

“Please,” you gasp. “Please, please-”

“Please what?”

You sob, too far gone to be embarrassed.

“Please let me come.”

Ryland’s rhythm falters.

For a second, he just breathes against you.

Then he kisses the side of your head, almost unbearably tender.

“Good puppy,” he whispers. “Since you asked so nicely.”

His hand tightens on your hip.

“Come.”

You break.

It hits so hard your arms give out, pleasure tearing through you bright and blank. You hear yourself cry out, feel Ryland hold you through it with one arm locked around your waist and the leash loose in his other hand.

He doesn’t stop.

Maybe he slows.

Maybe not.

You can’t tell.

Everything is heat and skin and his voice.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “There you go. Good. Good puppy. Take it.”

You’re useless beneath him now.

Actually useless.

Boneless, shaking, whimpering into the sheets while he fucks you through the aftershocks, his own control fraying with every second.

Ryland gives up his final clean edge as your name leaves his lips, thrusting hard and holding you firmly as he comes undone in back of you. The entire body shakes above yours, hot and weighty and thoroughly human, and for an instant he ceases being condescending.

He remains with you still buried, chest pressed into your back and one hand moving from the reigns to grasp your waist as if he cannot bear to hold any semblance of control anymore. His forehead rests between your shoulder blades.

Neither of you speak for quite a while.

Then, softly, still panting, Ryland says, “Holy moly.”

You laugh.

It comes out ruined and weak and delirious.

He laughs too, breathless against your skin.

“Don’t laugh,” he mutters. “I think I saw God.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re the one who crawled on the floor.”

You groan into the sheets.

There is a pause.

Then his voice returns, quieter.

“You okay?”

You nod, still floating.

Ryland kisses your shoulder.

“Words, sweetheart.”

Your chest warms at the shift.

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “Really.”

His hand smooths up your side, gentle now. Reverent.

“Good.” Another kiss, softer. “I’m going to move, okay?”

You nod.

He pulls away from you very delicately and says an apology to you softly when you hiss. He unclips the leash first, and you feel as if something inside your chest loosens at the clink of its disengagement.

After a moment’s disappearance, he returns and wipes the area very delicately that tears in your eyes once again.

“Don’t,” he says immediately, panicked. “Oh no. Did I hurt you? Was I too mean? I knew I was too mean. I got carried away with the-”

“Ryland.”

He freezes.

You look up at him, exhausted and glowing and fond.

“I liked it.”

His mouth opens.

Then closes.

Then he pushes his glasses up with the heel of his hand, looking adorably, catastrophically overwhelmed.

“Okay,” he says. “Good. Great. Excellent. Love that. Big fan.”

You smile.

After that, he helps you out of your shirt, tucking you beneath the blankets, then crawling into bed with you. And before you even know it, he pulls you into his embrace.

For what feels like forever, he simply holds you close. Just the rhythm of Ryland’s heartbeat against your ears, the movement of his hands up and down your back.

His hand rests at the nape of your neck.

Then, softer, so soft you almost miss it, he whispers, “Mine.”

You smile against his chest.

“Yours.”

_____________________