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I put my thumb against the center of one fading crescent and press. Pain gathers beneath one small point instead of five, sharper because he knows I’m giving it to him deliberately. Simon’s hips move half an inch toward me before he stops them.

I release him while his body is still asking for more.

“That wasn’t enough,” he says.

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” I smooth my palm over the place I hurt, erasing nothing and leaving nothing permanent. “If you damage yourself, I take this away. I’ll keep you perfectly safe until you understand what you lost.”

“That’s fucked.”

“Yes.”

“And if I behave?”

“You may ask.” I stand and close my hand around his cock.

Simon goes silent beneath the simple weight of my grip, watching me instead of looking at the scars.

“I decide whether the answer is yes. I decide how much you’re allowed to have, and I decide when you’ve had enough.”

His cock kicks once against my palm. I let him go without stroking him.

“Sleep pants.”

Simon stares at me for another second before taking them from the bed. He steps into them. His erection pushes against the front. Pain isn’t the only thing I’m allowed to leave him wanting.

I check the room while he gets into bed. “Tomorrow night, I’ll check again.”

He sits on the edge of the bed. “You say that like I’m supposed to look forward to it.”

“You are.”

I push him back against the mattress and pull the blanket over him. Then I lock the door behind me.

Jamie is waiting at his vanity. He’s already taken off his choker and placed it beside the brush. The swelling in his cheek has gone down since morning, although the bruise has darkened beneath his makeup. His split lip has closed.

“You were in there a long time,” he says.

“Simon required attention.” I take the cloth from beside the sink, wet it and return to the vanity.

Jamie turns on the stool so I can remove his makeup and inspect the damage Oliver left on his face. He watches my reflection while I clean carefully around the bruise beneath his eye. “Was he bad?”

“No.”

Jamie’s gaze drops to my hand. “Did you hurt him?”

“A little.” I tip his chin and wipe the makeup from the other side of his face. When I reach his mouth, he lifts it toward me so I can check the split near the corner.

“Because he was good?”

“Yes.” I put the cloth aside and pick up his brush.

Jamie turns toward the mirror again, but he doesn’t settle when I begin gathering his hair. “How come Simon gets his own routine already?”

“You have your own routine.”

“I know.” He watches me separate the first section of his hair. “Oliver doesn’t.”

I start at the ends, holding the hair above a small tangle. “Hold still.”