Page 60 of The Devil’s Feather

Like my failed attempt to live with David. He’d banned me from moving any of his shit to make space for mine. I had to squeeze in around the margins of his life. He’d once thrown a screaming fit because I accidentally knocked over a stack of old comics trying to find a spot for my books, and I’d unknowingly put them back out of order. I wasn’t allowed to complain about his reaction because of his autism. Even though I was also autistic and being screamed at triggered full-blown meltdowns.

Luckily, Deandra had insisted I keep all my furniture at our house, proclaiming I’d need it. I’d scrimped and saved to get decent quality pieces that would last, and I couldn’t afford to re-buy everything. I came slinking back with my tail between my legs not six months later.

This time, she hadn’t said a peep—especially not after learning what drove me to the decision.

Rafael had no problem rearranging the furniture. He insisted on replacing the bedframe in the guest room with mine. After some measuring, we fit my chest of drawers in the closet without blocking the entry to the dungeon.

He hauled my big bookshelf into my new office. It wouldn’t fit in the curved turret, and besides; the room at the top was meant for lounging. Most touchingly, Deandra’s portrait of me hung front and center in his gallery.

“Why do you look sad, Windup Girl?”

I jumped. “Dammit, where’s your bell? Weren’t you supposed to clap?”

Rafael laughed.

“Feeling sorry for myself, I guess. It’s really generous of you to let me put all my stuff in here and move yours around.”

He cupped my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye. “Remember when I said canımın içi means ‘inside of my life’? Inside, Elaine. Not floating on top, or shoved in an unused corner, or dragged along behind me. You say the word, and I’ll burn everything I own.” He smiled at the trembling of my lower lip. “Ah, maybe not my instruments, but everything else. I might pout about the art, but I would do it for you.”

I threw my arms around him and inhaled the dragon’s blood scent of his hair oil. “Stop being so nice to me. I don’t know how to handle it.”

“This might be the first time anyone has said I am too nice.”

“Well, you keep doing these grand gestures, and I don’t have any way to really reciprocate.” It was the first time I’d voiced that concern.

“Canım, you make me feel calm and safe enough to sleep better than I ever have in my life. You make me happy. That is not a word I use lightly.” Rafael kneeled to better look me in the eye. “You are also incredibly fucking sexy when you put your mind to it. If you are feeling beholden, you can repay me in beatings.”

I laid a cautious hand on his chest. “Your bruises have barely healed from the last time!”

Rafael’s eyes glittered. “I like feeling them as I move around in my daily life.”

“You pervert.”

“I am, as I have said, a pain slut.” He opened the secret door to the dungeon with a questioning brow raise.

“Ok, pain slut. Let’s go.” I took his hand and led him inside. “What do you have in mind?”

My little collection of monster dildos rested on the shelf next to the lube and clamps. The pastels and shimmering colors stood out next to the black and red aesthetic of everything else. l blushed. When had he put those there?

“How good is your aim with a bullwhip?” he purred in my ear.

“Holy—no, not good enough to be sure I wouldn’t put your eye out.” I poked through the assortment of harnesses until I came upon a sturdy black waspie corset. “Is this yours?”

“Who else would it belong to?”

“You and that mouth, I swear. Can I see it on you?” I held the corset up. “You already have a slutty little waist.”

“My windup girl, you can do whatever you like. Hand me that corset liner. And what is with these slutty little descriptions? Slutty glasses, slutty waist. What else is slutty and little?”

“Not you, that’s for sure. Giant slut.”

He barked a laugh. Rafael stepped into the stretchy liner and pulled it up around his waist, rolling the band of his pants down to accommodate it. My brain bluescreened at the exposed trail of dark red hair disappearing beneath that waistband.

I blinked to restart my concentration enough to wrap the corset around his middle. “I’ve always loved a man in a corset.”

He settled the waspie over his hips and hooked it closed in the front. It had to be custom with how it molded to his body.

“I used to wear them a lot. It was good for my anxiety. I don’t really know why I stopped.” Weight gain was the reason, but better not to dwell on my insecurity. “The ones I have now are more for like ren fair costumes rather than true waist-training corsets. Are you able to close this one?”