Kian stood near Selene, arms crossed as he listened to her talk, but his focus kept flickering. His mind was still restless, still unsettled from his last encounter with Victor and Mira. It had been days, yet the memory of that night— of what he let happen— lingered beneath his skin like an imprint that refused to fade.
Selene tilted her head, catching his distraction. “You’re thinking too much again,” she teased, her voice warm, laced with knowing.
He exhaled through his nose, about to argue, when movement from the side caught his attention.
Victor and Mira approached with unhurried grace, their presence drawing attention effortlessly. Kian straightened instinctively, already sensing that whatever they had to say would demand something of him.
“Kian,” Victor greeted, his lips curving. “There’s someone we’d like you to meet.”
Selene glanced between them, already piecing together the situation. “That’s my cue to leave, isn’t it?” she said lightly, though curiosity flickered in her gaze.
“Unfortunately,” Mira said, smiling. “But you’ll hear all about it later, I’m sure. You’re friends with him, after all.”
Selene smirked at Kian, tapping her fingers against his arm. “Try not to brood too hard.” With that, she slipped away, her absence leaving the air between them heavier.
Kian faced Victor and Mira, expression unreadable. “Who am I meeting?”
Mira’s eyes gleamed. “The Alchemist.”
Something in Kian’s stomach tightened. He had heard of The alchemist— whispers of an elusive figure who operated at the crossroads of sensation and science. The Alchemist was not a member of the Vault, but they had been invited before, their expertise sought by those who wished to explore.
“And why exactly do you want me to meet them?” Kian asked, suspicion threading his tone.
Victor chuckled. “Because you need to.”
That was hardly an answer, but Kian didn’t resist when they gestured for him to follow.
~
The Vault’s laboratory was unlike the other rooms. The air was thick with the scent of warm oils and faint spice.
At the center of the room stood The Alchemist.
They were draped in flowing black robes, their features partially obscured by the play of shadow and light. When they turned to regard Kian, their lips curved, as if they had expected him long before he had even considered being here.
“Kian,” they said smoothly. “I’ve heard much about you.”
Kian’s jaw tightened. “I can’t say the same.”
The Alchemist chuckled, stepping closer. “Then tonight, we’ll change that.”
Victor and Mira settled against the far wall, watching with the air of quiet spectators.
The Alchemist studied him for a long moment before lifting a small, ornate glass bottle. The liquid inside shimmered under the light. “Tonight, we focus on sensation. Oil. Blindfolds. Trust.”
Kian’s spine went rigid. “Trust?”
The Alchemist tilted their head. “You fear what you cannot see, don’t you?”
Kian didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
The Alchemist stepped closer, their presence both grounding and unsettling. “Take your clothes off,” they instructed softly.
Kian obeyed. Nudity wasn’t something he was new to. He stepped out of his pants, shirt and underwear, standing bare before all of them.
The alchemist instructed him to get on the massage table, and he obeyed.
Kian lay stretched out on the massage table, his body bare against the silk-draped surface. A blindfold soon covered his eyes, rendering him utterly sightless. He hadn’t been told who would be guiding him through this— only that he was to let go, to feel.
That was easier said than done.
He exhaled slowly, keeping his body taut with restraint as he listened for movement. A soft rustle of fabric. The faint sound of oil being poured into a palm.
Then— touch.
Warm hands smoothed over his shoulders, pressing into tense muscle with practiced ease. Kian inhaled sharply but did not move, allowing the sensation to roll through him. The hands glided lower, down his arms, kneading slow, firm circles into his biceps before working their way back up to his chest.
The warmth spread, oil sinking into his skin as those hands explored him with an aching patience, teasing him with deliberate, languid strokes. His stomach tightened when fingertips brushed over his ribs, tracing the curve of his waistline before sliding lower— just to the edge of where he wanted them most.
But they never strayed further.
His breathing deepened, frustration beginning to coil beneath his skin. Whoever this was, they knew exactly what they were doing— holding him on the edge, never quite giving him what he craved.
The hands returned to his chest, thumbs pressing into the dip between his collarbones before sliding down, gliding over the firm ridges of his abdomen.
Kian shuddered.
A soft hum broke the silence, the sound too familiar. His brows drew together beneath the blindfold.
No.
It couldn’t be—
The hands moved again, nails lightly scratching down his sides, the sensation sending an involuntary tremor through him. A breathless chuckle followed, sultry and unmistakable.
Mira.
He stiffened. “You—”
“Shh,” she whispered, dragging her palms up his thighs, stopping just shy of his growing arousal. “Relax, Kian.”
His jaw clenched. Relaxation was impossible now.
She leaned closer, the warmth of her breath ghosting over his skin. “You’re doing so well,” she murmured, her voice drenched in amusement. “So obedient. So patient.”
His fingers twitched against the silk sheets, his control fraying with every teasing touch.
Mira’s hands traveled upward again, mapping his body like she had all the time in the world. Her thumbs traced slow circles over his hip bones, her nails following the line of his pelvis— so, so close to where he wanted her.
But she didn’t touch him there.
Not yet. Again.
Kian’s breath was ragged now, his chest rising and falling with barely concealed need.
“Mira,” he warned, his voice rough.
“Hmm?” She feigned innocence, her fingers gliding lower again— closer, closer— before veering away at the last second.
His muscles tensed.
“You don’t like being teased?” she asked, laughter threading through her tone.
He gritted his teeth.
She pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his hip bone, her nails digging lightly into his inner thighs. “You’ve been so good for me,” she purred. “Should I reward you?”
Kian swallowed hard, his entire body taut with anticipation.
Mira didn’t make him wait any longer.
Her hand wrapped around his cock, slick with oil, fingers moving with torturous precision.
A guttural sound tore from his throat as pleasure overtook him, his control unraveling completely beneath her touch.
She stroked him slowly at first, her grip firm but teasing, her thumb circling the sensitive tip in maddening, deliberate motions.
“That’s it,” she whispered, her lips grazing his flaming red ear. “Just let go.”
His breath hitched, his body straining toward release as she worked him with skilled, unrelenting movements. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, his restraint slipping with every stroke, every whispered encouragement.
From our workshop
And then—
His body tensed, the blindfold amplifying everything as he came apart in her hands, pleasure surging through him in waves so intense he almost forgot how to breathe.
Mira’s grip didn’t ease until he was spent, his body trembling from the force of it.
Only then did she lean in, pressing a kiss to his damp temple.
“See?” she murmured, smug satisfaction in her voice. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Kian could barely find the strength to respond.
Mira chuckled, removing the blindfold with agonizing slowness.
When his vision adjusted, he found her watching him with that wicked, knowing smile.
And he knew, without a doubt, that he couldn’t get out of this. He was hooked, and he liked it.
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