5. Toby

Blaise hummed happily, proving once again that I'd been correct in my assumption. He might not know it yet, but he was the perfect sub wrapped up in the most delightful package.

Carefully removing my fingers, I stroked my hands softly over his rear. "Think you can turn over for me?"

Blaise went rigid. "Umm."

I smirked, glad he couldn't see my face. "Did you make a mess and you're embarrassed for me to see?"

"No," his reply was muffled. And a lie, given the flush spreading up his neck.

Leaning back over him, I squeezed the back of his neck gently. "You're not to be embarrassed, Blaise. You did exactly what I asked of you, and I'm so proud. You've pleased me greatly."

"I came all over your bedding."

There was no ignoring the mortification in Blaise's tone. That was okay; this was nothing I hadn't dealt with before. He'd soon learn that there was nothing for him to be ashamed of when it came to sex with me. Or anything else for that matter. I was the one person he'd be able to count on to never judge him.

"Just like I told you to," I reminded him, my fingers tightening possessively. "You made a mess like I asked, because you're a good boy."

He finally raised his head, his glassy eyes meeting mine. "Why do I like that so much?"

"If I had to guess, it's probably been a long time since anyone has said anything nice to you. And even longer since you've said something nice to yourself." I stroked the side of his neck with my thumb. "By the time I'm finished with you, you'll not only be able to accept a compliment, you'll believe it too."

His eyes shuttered. "If you say so."

"I do say so." I squeezed him once more before getting up. "And now I'm saying that you need to roll over onto your back. Move to the other side of the bed so you're comfortable."

He pushed up on his forearms, his eyes widening. "Wait, you're leaving?"

"No," I said, brushing my hand over his hair. Fuck, I could not stop touching this man. "I'm just going to wash my hands and grab a flannel. I'll be right back."

Relief flashed over his face. "Good."

I watched him long enough to make sure he was following my direction before rushing to the bathroom. After cleaning my hands, I took a second to lean on the sink. Staring at myself in the mirror, I wondered how much of a colossal mistake this was going to be. Would keeping a strict contract in place stop me from falling for that gentle giant out there?

Probably not. But I had to try. I'd had enough of giving my all to someone only to have it thrown back in my face. At least this way there was a set time limit and clear expectations of both of us.

Hopefully it would be enough to keep the romantic in me quiet. No, not quiet. I needed that fucker tied up in ropes and shoved into a locked chest.

This wasn't the time to be worrying about this. Blaise was out there and waiting for me. I hadn't taken him anywhere near subspace, but I suspected that scene had been more intense than anything he'd experienced for a while. I needed to get back to him before he started to spiral.

Sure enough, when I returned with the washcloth in hand, Blaise's muscles were tight again. He was on his back, on the opposite side of the bed, but all the progress I'd made was gone. His arms were folded over his chest, and he was chewing on his lip as he glared at the ceiling.

"Less of that," I said lightly, tugging on his lip to pop it out from between his teeth. "No abusing these beautiful lips."

Like every time I'd complimented him, Blaise looked torn between shock and rolling his eyes. He didn't argue though, so I was counting it as progress.

"Uncross your arms for me," I said, holding up the flannel. "Can't clean you up if you're like that."

"I can clean myself up," he huffed.

I fought my urge to smile. Brat. I didn't argue with him, instead returning to the simple setup we'd started this with. "Colour?"

I think my question threw him, making him answer honestly.

"Green."

"Great." Settling on the bed beside him, I cleaned him up with gentle efficiency. "There, all clean. Now we can continue."

Blaise's head snapped around. "Wait, we're not done?"

"Not by a long shot. Unless you're ready to stop?"

"No," he said quickly, his eyes dipping down to where my cock was tenting my work trousers. "Can I get you off now?"

Yes please, my dick tried to answer for me. I ignored it though. Tonight wasn't about that. "Not right now, but thank you."

Blaise looked puzzled. "Then what are we going to do?"

"You're going to do nothing," I said, picking up the oil. "I'm going to finish the massage."

"Oh." Blaise blinked up at me. "I thought we were done with that."

I gave his rigid posture a pointed look. "Yes, because you're so relaxed right now."

To my surprise, he gave a quiet laugh, his shoulders sinking back into the bed. "I guess you're right. It just feels strange to have you fussing over me. I thought it was going to be the other way around."

That was a common misconception when it came to kink. "I told you, I enjoy the caretaking part of being a Dom. You're serving me by letting me look after you. I get off on the fact that you're following my instructions…even if you're adding a bit of bratting to the proceedings."

Blaise started to protest, but I stopped him with a finger pressed to his lips. "Don't worry. Bratty boys are my ambrosia."

His lips parted under my finger and I could tell I'd given him enough to process for now. "Same rules as before—no speaking unless it's to safe-word."

"I spoke before though…was that okay?" The last part was tacked on hastily, like Blaise was trying not to be the brat I'd just hinted at.

"Moaning and saying things like ‘yes,' ‘please,' and ‘more' don't count," I said, pouring oil into my hand as I grinned at him. "Believe me, those are all sounds I want to hear. Don't ever hold those in."

His neck flushed again as he nodded.

Picking up his arm closest to me, I started to rub it in gentle, soothing motions. Whenever I found a knot, I'd apply pressure until I felt it release. I'd learned massage two hundred years ago from a Swedish Dom. It was probably the skill I broke out the most with subs. Nothing relaxed someone more than an orgasm coupled with a massage.

I stayed silent as I worked my way through Blaise's muscles. By the time I reached his hand, his jaw cracked with a massive yawn. His eyes began to droop as I reached his right leg. When I moved to his left one, they closed completely.

I didn't stop massaging him. I could have used the excuse that I wanted to make sure he was fully asleep, but that would have been a lie. Really, I just couldn't deny myself the opportunity to touch him. To trail my fingertips over all those muscles.

I lessened the pressure, aiming for soothing strokes instead of kneading ones. With Blaise's eyes closed, I was free to look my fill. Not that him being awake stopped me staring, but I often found him watching me back, like he was confused as to why I was bothering.

He looked younger in sleep, like the worry and stress he'd been carrying had finally slipped away. He was young—well, to me he was. I knew from River that they weren't even two hundred years old. Blaise was practically a baby compared to the six centuries I had under my belt.

Maybe that was why he was struggling. It was hard to adjust to an immortal lifespan. You took stupid risks because you weren't used to consequences. It was a lesson many supes learned the hard way.

Blaise's full lips were parted as he gave light huffing snores. Thick stubble covered his jaw and neck. Was that because he liked it? Or was shaving too much for him to manage at the moment?

I'd already deduced that Blaise was depressed and likely suffering from PTSD. Having several medical degrees helped with that diagnosis, although even without them I could've worked it out. Since we'd rescued River, I'd only seen Blaise on the nights when he came running into the bar. From what his twin said, he didn't have a life outside of his home anymore. He got up, worked out, and went back to bed.

That wasn't living. It was existing.

Antidepressants didn't work on supes. If they did, I would have been adding that to the list of things to discuss with him. Some humans had a strange hang-up about taking them, which didn't make sense to me. If you're diabetic, you use insulin. If you have a migraine, you take a painkiller. Why wouldn't you do the same for a mental health issue?

As that wasn't an option for Blaise, I was going to have to help him in other ways. Therapy, for a start. He also needed a routine, motivation to want to get better, and ideally, something to hope for.

I wasn't sure about the last one, but the others were all comfortably in my wheelhouse. Not that he'd be having therapy with me. That wouldn't be appropriate given what I was hoping we'd be to each other. Fortunately I had a friend who helped me out in times like these. I'd reach out to Tyler tomorrow. Not only was he a fantastic therapist, he was also a vampire. He understood the particular struggles that went hand in hand with immortality.

The biggest one being how to move on after a monumental fuck-up.

Blaise shifted in his sleep, giving a small murmur. Pausing my movements, I studied him for a moment before continuing. He didn't seem distressed. Whatever nightmare had had him running to me wasn't bothering him now.

Good.

His chestnut hair fell over his forehead. It was so thick. Just begging for me to put my hand in it as I controlled his movements, choking him with my cock before forcing him to sit back and wait for it.

Behave.

My gaze drifted from his hair to the thin scar that curved up the side of his face. It was highly unusual to see a scar of any description on a supe. Our healing abilities normally healed all manner of wounds within seconds.

A permanent mark meant something significant had happened, but what? A cursed weapon perhaps? Other than a tiger shifter, that was the only thing that might have been capable of doing it. As far as I knew, they'd all but died out, hunted into extinction by the clans of wolf shifters. Territorial fuckers, the lot of them. The only thing wolves had going in their favour was numbers and clan allegiances. The tigers hadn't stood a chance. The final battle had taken place over two hundred years ago and I hadn't heard of or seen one since.

No, a cursed weapon made more sense. Lucifer had many such blades in his possession, often sending them topside when he sent his minions to carry out his orders.

I might have been close with his sons, but the man in charge? He could stay down in Hell and rot there for all I cared. Even if he wasn't literally evil incarnate, the way he'd treated his children was enough for me to condemn him.

Touching Blaise's scar lightly, I mapped it with my fingers. It started at the corner of his lip, curving up over his cheekbone, before finally bisecting his brow. It was thin, almost certainly made by a sharp blade. The placement of it made me wince—he was lucky to have not lost his eye.

What had happened to cause it? The doctor in me had wanted to ask the first night I'd met him, but I'd been wise enough to know it wasn't the right moment. I could've asked River, but something had held me back.

I wanted to hear it from Blaise. It was his story to tell, and I got the sense he didn't open up to others easily, so if he did, I'd be nothing but grateful.

Regardless of how he got it, it did nothing to detract from his devastating features. His strong jaw was offset by plump lips. Long eyelashes rested on his cheeks. I couldn't see his unusual grey eyes, but I had no issue picturing them. Even if I hadn't spent an inordinate amount of time staring at them, they were the one thing he had in common with his twin.

Drawing back, I moved silently as I tidied away the supplies and washed my hands again. Not wanting to risk waking Blaise, I didn't bother to shower. I could do that in a few hours after he'd had some rest.

Wasn't like I was going to be sleeping tonight anyway. Blaise had come all over my side of the bed, and as much as I was drawn to the guy, lying in the wet patch didn't sound particularly appealing.

It didn't matter. Vampires needed even less sleep than other supes. It was pretty much the only part of the myths that were true. Well, that and drinking blood, but even that I didn't do the traditional way. It was far easier to use a blood bank these days.

I did need some rest, but really, an hour or two a week was enough to see me through. As I'd had three last night, I was good for a while yet.

Blaise, being a mage, was another story. They needed a solid few hours every night. More if they were emotionally rundown.

The sight of Blaise sleeping soundly in my bed made me feel settled. Hopefully he'd feel better when he awoke.

And that was what this was all about—making Blaise feel better.

Grabbing my book off my bedside table, I settled down in the armchair.

If I spent more time watching Blaise than reading my book? Well, that would stay my little secret.