“I’ve been well, master,” he said politely.
Master Rosh looked over his shoulder at his father before he reached out and touched his cheek softly.
“You’ve done well, Isa. He’s perfect. I can’t wait to make you mine, little one. You’ll be the pride of the Rosh family.”
He smoothed his thumb along his jaw. Jamue tried his best not to retch. But he could feel the food he’d eaten that afternoon push up his throat.
“You’ve made me wait for a long time. I’m glad you came to your senses.”
The bastard.
He’d spoken to him. And he’d acted as if he understood – empathized with him, even offered him a room to sleep in.
Mac believed he’d gone off with a strange alpha for some fun that night, but he'd been trying to save himself - begging on his knees for his freedom from this alpha.
But he played him.
Jamue regretted going to him that night. He’d wasted his time.
As if he could read his mind, Master Rosh leaned close and whispered in his ear: “I loved watching you on your knees that night. I have footage of it. Don’t know how many times I watched it, stroking my cock, to the sounds of your sobs as you begged me to let you go.”
Jamue flinched.
He recorded him. No.
His breath hit the side of his face as he leaned closer, his hand cupping the side of his neck, right where Hym had buried his nose.
His stomach pushed up.
Don't touch me there, he internally begged, sick to his stomach.
“Even if you beg, I'll never let you go. You are mine, Jamue,” Master Rosh bit out harshly. He dropped his hand and stepped back.
The smile he gave him belied the threat he’d just whispered in his ear. He turned to his father and said something Jamue couldn’t hear.
He forced himself to stand there until his father dismissed him.
“Go to your room Jamue. I’ll see Master Rosh out,” his father said.
Jamue ran up to his room, heading straight for the washroom.
He fell to his knees and pulled the waste bot close.
He opened his mouth, willing the revolting feelings to pour out of him.
His body shook as he vomited. This time he didn't fight it. He let his body cleanse itself, rid him of every vile feeling Master Rosh had wrought in him.
Done, he shut the bot and set it to clean itself.
“Jamue? What are you doing on the floor?” his father asked.
Shit.
He hadn't heard him enter his room.
“Nothing. I was looking for something,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth.
He got to his feet, walked to the bathing bot and splashed water on his face. His father handed him a washcloth.