ALEXANDER
My little anomaly was feeling pity for me.
How cute.
I could see it all over his face, the wide hazel eyes, the nervous way he kept wringing his hands in his lap, the slight tremble in his voice. He looked genuinely hurt on my behalf, like someone had kicked a puppy in front of him. It was almost endearing how soft and kind he was. How completely unequipped to deal with people like my family… or me.
We were halfway home, the city lights sliding across the windshield. The car was quiet except for the low hum of the engine. Dashiell kept stealing glances at me, like he was waiting for me to break down or scream or show some sign that my mother's words had landed.
They hadn't.
I felt nothing.
But watching him squirm with all that misplaced concern was… interesting.
"Um… a-are you okay?" he finally asked, voice small.
I felt the faint urge to smile. Instead, I kept my expression blank and glanced at him. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He wrung his hands together nervously, fingers twisting. "Well… for what happened at dinner. With your family."
I arched a brow. "It was expected."
Dash looked at me like I had grown a second head. "Well, I did not expect that one bit. Are they always like that?"
I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the road."More or less."
He shifted in his seat, clearly frustrated with my short answers. "Well… that's not really what I'm asking." He took a shaky breath. "I know you heard what your mom said. And I'm sorry I didn't say anything to defend you… like you did for me."
I turned my head slightly to look at him.
He looked so genuinely upset and hurt. Not for himself, for me. Like he wanted to crawl into a hole because he hadn't stood up for me. My little anomaly was soft and kind, the type of person who felt bad for broken things. Logically, I understood why he had that expression. Emotionally? I felt nothing. No pain or anger.
Still… the way he was looking at me right now, all wide-eyed and worried, stirred something dark and hungry low in my gut. It turned me on in a way I hadn't expected.
I didn't care what my mother said. She hadn't lied. I *was* a diagnosed psychopath. I didn't feel the things normal people felt.
But watching Dashiell care so much… that was entertaining.
"I don't care," I said flatly. "She didn't lie."
Dashiell's eyes went wide, mouth opening in shock. "E-even so… a mother should not talk about her son like that. It's… it's cruel."
I hummed, the sound low and disinterested. "Cruelty is subjective. She stated facts. I've never pretended to be anything else."
He stared at me for a long moment, mouth slightly open, clearly struggling to process my complete lack of reaction. The silence stretched.
Then, because I could see how badly he wanted to "fix" something that wasn't broken, I decided to play with him a little.
"Do you want to make me feel better?" I asked, voice low and smooth, even though I felt perfectly fine. Excellent, actually.
Dash blinked, caught off guard. "Um… yeah. What can I do?"
I let the silence hang for two heartbeats, just to watch him squirm. Then I answered, my lips curved into a slow, predatory smirk.
"You can get on your knees when we get home," I said bluntly. "Open that pretty mouth and let me fuck your throat until you cry. That would make me feel *much* better."
Dash's face went bright red. His mouth opened and closed a few times, completely flustered. "Alexander! I… that's not… I meant like… talk or something!"
I chuckled, low and dark. "Talking won't make me feel better. Your mouth around my cock will. You wanted to help, didn't you, little anomaly?"
"You asked. I'm just telling you how to help your poor, broken husband."
He buried his face in his hands with a groan, but I didn't miss the way his thighs pressed together or the way his breath hitched.
My little anomaly was flustered, embarrassed… and just a little turned on.
Perfect.
The rest of the drive home was quiet except for his occasional embarrassed mumbling. I drove faster than necessary, already imagining how good he'd look on his knees, teary-eyed, lips stretched around me, trying so hard to "make me feel better" while I used his mouth exactly how I wanted.
Pity from him?
I could get used to this.
*****
The moment we stepped inside the house, I closed the front door behind us with a soft click. The silence of our home wrapped around us, so much cleaner than the suffocating tension at the Astor estate.
Dashiell hovered near the entrance, still flushed and fidgeting, clearly unsure whether to bolt to his room or keep trying to "comfort" me.
I didn't give him the chance to decide.
I grabbed Dashiell by the waist, spun him around, and pinned him against the wall with my body. My much larger frame completely dwarfed his smaller one. I towered over him, one hand braced beside his head, the other gripping his hip hard enough to feel the heat of his skin through his clothes.
He gasped, eyes wide, back pressed flat to the wall.
"Look at me," I ordered, voice low and rough. "You wanted to make me feel better, hubby? Then be a good boy and get on your knees right here. I want to fuck that pretty throat until you're choking on my cock and crying those sweet tears I like so much."
Dashiell's breath hitched, cheeks flaming. His smaller body trembled under mine, caught between embarrassment and something hotter. "A-Alexander… we just got home….."
Before he could finish, his stomach let out a loud, embarrassing rumble.
The sound echoed in the quiet hallway.
Dash froze, mortified. His face turned an even deeper shade of red as he wrapped his arms around his middle like he could hide it. "I… sorry. I didn't eat much at dinner."
I stared down at him for a beat, still pinning him to the wall, my body heat radiating against his smaller frame. Then I slowly rolled up my sleeves, exposing my forearms, eyes never leaving his flushed face.
He blinked up at me, confused. "What… what are you doing?"
I stepped back just enough to let him breathe, but not enough for him to escape the cage of my body.
"Feeding you first. Low blood sugar makes you useless when I fuck your face. I want you conscious and crying properly."
He made a strangled noise, half protest, half embarrassment. "You can… cook?"
I turned toward the kitchen, but not before grabbing his wrist and tugging him along with me. "I can do many things you assume I can't, little anomaly. Unlike my family, I don't need servants for basic survival."
Dash stumbled after me, still flushed and flustered. "You don't have to…"
"Sit," I said calmly, nodding at the stool by the island as I opened the fridge and started pulling out eggs, butter, cheese, and vegetables.
He stood there on the other side of the island, smaller than me even when I wasn't trying to loom. I liked the height difference, the way I could look down at him and watch every micro-expression flicker across his face. It made the urge to push him against the counter and remind him who he belonged to even stronger.
He climbed onto the stool, watching me with wide eyes. "Alexander… you really don't have to cook for me, I can just make a sandwich or something. You've had a long day too."
"I'm not doing it because I feel bad. I'm doing it because I plan to use your throat later, and I'd rather you not pass out halfway through. Ruins the fun."
Dash groaned softly, but I caught the way his thighs pressed together.
"You're eating what I make. Then you're getting on your knees like you promised."
He made a soft, mortified sound, his cheeks burning. "I didn't promise anything…"
I smirked as I cracked eggs into a bowl. "You offered to make me feel better. This is step one. Step two involves considerably less clothing and considerably more tears."
Dashiell hid his face in his hands again, but I caught the tiny, involuntary shiver that ran through his smaller frame.
Good.
Let him pity me.
Let him worry.
It only made it sweeter when I reminded him exactly how little I needed saving and exactly how much I enjoyed taking what was mine.