Chapter 146

Ray didn’t answer with words. He fucked her with his fingers and kept his mouth working, tongue circling, then sealing, then licking down to where his knuckles were stretching her. The sound got filthy fast. Wet. Obscene. Her grip in his hair stopped being punishment and started pulling him in.

“Fuck—” She cut herself off, head tipping back. “Don’t get cute. You don’t get to win just because you found a rhythm.”

He bit the inside of her thigh hard enough to leave a mark, then went right back to her pussy before she could turn it into another lecture. That did it. Milady’s hips rolled against his face, chasing it, the anger still in her voice but her body already bargaining.

“Good,” she said. “Greedy looks better on you than that righteous shit from the hallway.”

Ray stood up without warning, hauled her onto the sofa, and shoved her knees apart. She let him. More than let him. She hooked one ankle behind his back like the game had finally gotten interesting. Her blouse was still half-tugged down, small tits flushed, nipples tight. He palmed one, squeezed the way he’d wanted to under the dying alter, and lined himself up.

“You told me to earn it,” he said.

“Then stop talking and fuck me.”

He pushed in on one stroke.

Milady’s mouth opened around a sound she didn’t bother hiding. Tight. Wet. She clenched around him immediately, like her body had been waiting through the whole station mission and the timer stunt and the slap. Ray bottomed out and stayed there a second, breathing hard, then started moving for real. Deep. Rough. The kind of pace that made the sofa complain.

She took it. Then she started using it.

Milady grabbed his collar, yanked him down, and kissed him messy, tasting herself on his mouth. “Harder. You want to be brave, be brave.”

He gave it to her. One hand braced by her head, the other still on her small tit, thumb dragging her nipple while he slammed into her. Skin slapping. Her pussy audibly wet every time he pulled back and drove in again. She moaned against his teeth, then laughed through it, that toxic little spark lighting back up now that the sex had teeth.

“That’s it. That’s my slave.” Her nails raked his shoulder. “Look at you. Level seventeen and still fucking like you’ve got something to prove.”

Ray hooked her thigh higher and changed the angle until she twitched. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Of course I am.” No denial. No performance lag. Her eyes were hot, angry-sweet, locked on him. “You finally stopped treating me like glass. Keep going. Make it ugly.”

He did. He pounded her into the sofa until her voice broke on every other thrust, until her small chest bounced under his hand, until she was grinding up to meet him instead of just receiving it. The rumor sat unsaid between them, postponed, caged behind the order she’d given. Right now there was only the wet clutch of her around his cock and the way she hissed *good* when he got rougher.

Milady’s hand found his jaw again, not slapping this time. Holding. Making him look at her while she came apart.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she said. “You started a fight. Finish it inside me.”

The sofa looked wrecked.

Cushions shoved half off. Her slacks still on the floor. His shirt open and stuck to his back. The air had that thick after-sex smell—sweat, her, him, cum cooling on skin and fabric. For a few seconds neither of them talked. Just breathing. The cheap apartment ticking back into place around the mess.

Ray didn’t let the quiet last.

“The rumor,” he said. “Sugar mommy. Talk.”

Milady stared at the ceiling like she might ignore him out of spite. Then she glanced down at his lap, smirked, and sat up on one elbow.

“Okay. Your dick’s soft now. I’ll answer.”

“Before that.” Ray turned his head toward her. “You not scared of getting pregnant?”

Milady snorted. “I’ve got pills. Why would I be scared? If I suddenly got pregnant I’d just abort—”

The word died.

Her face changed mid-sentence. Not the usual mask-shift she used when she was performing cruelty. This was physical. Her eyes unfocused. A wince cut across her mouth. She pressed two fingers to her temple like the room had tilted.

“Shit—”

Ray felt it land all at once.

That sentence had been too soft underneath the sharpness. Too quick. Too unguarded. The version of her that kept the other one caged didn’t slip like that unless something real had cracked through. She could talk reckless all night. She could slap him, make him beg, call him slave. But *that*—the way her voice almost went gentle around a baby that didn’t even exist yet—that was the leak. If she actually got pregnant, this whole lid-and-lock system would get dangerous fast. Softness was the opening. Softness was how the other personality climbed.

He slapped her.

Open palm. Hard enough to snap her head to the side and put heat back on her cheek before the dizziness could finish eating her.

Milady sucked in a breath, furious.

Color slammed back into her face. The unfocused look vanished like someone had yanked a curtain. She stared at him, eyes sharp again, mouth ugly with anger.

Then she smiled.

Not sweet. Grateful in the nastiest way she had.

“Good,” she said, voice low. “Don’t get proud about it. You’re still just a dog who happens to notice when his owner starts slipping.” She touched her cheek, checked the sting, and looked at him like he’d done the one useful thing he was allowed to do. “Thank you. Stay in your place.”

Ray didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The off-feeling from earlier finally had a shape.

Milady pulled her blouse back into something like order, small chest disappearing behind fabric again, and let the anger settle into that familiar cutting calm.

“The sugar mommy rumor,” she said. “That came from Sonya.”

Ray stared at her.

“Sonya?”

Not loud. Just disbelief sitting raw in his mouth. Their breakup hadn’t been a war. No screaming in parking lots. No revenge tour. A MILF he’d dated, older, warm in that collected way, and then it ended like two adults putting a glass down and walking away. That was the version he still had in his head.

Milady didn’t argue with the face he was making. She got off the ruined sofa, walked a few steps, and came back with the thick phone. The one that existed for him. No speech about it. She unlocked it, dropped it on his chest, and nodded at the screen.

“Check it yourself.”

Ray sat up, still half-naked, cum-smell still in the room, and opened X.

There it was.

Sonya’s account. A post. A photo of them. Not even a blurry night-club shot. Clear enough that his stomach went tight. Caption doing the kind of work that made strangers fill in the worst version.

He frowned at it longer than he needed to.

“This is weird,” he said. “Why would she do this? We didn’t split ugly.”

Milady sat on the arm of the sofa, looking down at him like he was being slow on purpose.

“Don’t be naive. She can be mature. She can be motherly. She’s still a woman. No way she didn’t want people in this world knowing she had you.”

Ray scrolled once, jaw set. “Yeah, but this makes me look like shit.”

“Well, yeah.” Milady’s mouth ticked. Not surprised. Almost bored by how obvious it was. “That’s the point. Maybe she’s not in regular love anymore. Maybe she’s already obsessed. Regular love lets go clean. This?” She tapped the phone with one nail. “This is her keeping a hand on you in public and making sure the story hurts.”

The phone suddenly felt heavy as hell.

Ray leaned back into the wrecked sofa and shut his eyes for a second. Not heartbreak. That wasn’t it. He’d gone after Sonya wanting sex, not a speech about feelings. A MILF. A body. A night. That was supposed to be the whole file.

Then that last night happened.

Before the doxxing. Before his name got dragged into the ugly part of the internet. That night had gone and melted the lock he’d put on himself. He’d already closed the door on falling for anybody. Sonya walked through it anyway. He hated that. Hated that the proof was sitting in his chest like a bruise he didn’t agree to.

Denial came up hot.

“This is bullshit,” he muttered.

He looked at Milady.

That was the part that made his head worse. After every ugly thing his life had turned into—alters, missions, masks, rumors, a second personality waiting behind her teeth—he still looked at this woman and thought she was the only one built to stand next to it. Not soft. Not clean. Just capable of living in the same wreck without flinching.

Milady watched his face and chuckled.

“What? You mad ’cause I read that disgusting little thought?”

Ray laughed. Rough. Ugly. He grabbed her jaw, not gentle, thumb pressing into her cheek where he’d slapped her earlier.

“Keep reading,” he said. “I’m gonna fuck that attitude out of you until you sit like an obedient wife.”

Milady’s eyes flashed, angry and interested at the same time.

Ray didn’t let go. “You hear me? Not a queen. Not a handler. A wife who shuts her mouth when I tell her to and opens it when I want it. I’ll break you into that.”

Her smile came back mean. “Then stop daydreaming about your old MILF and prove it.”