HAVEN'S POV
The world, for ten perfect minutes, was a study in quiet geometry.
The angle of the morning light slicing through the penthouse blinds. The curve of Althea's bare shoulder emerging from the silk sheets. The crescent of dark lashes against her cheek. The constellation of my own making that decorated her skin: the purpling bite mark on the junction of her neck and shoulder, the faint red scratches along her spine, the love-bruises on her inner thighs. A map of possession, drawn in the language of the night.
It was 1 PM. She had finally, thoroughly, exhausted herself into sleep around 5 AM. I slept too. I lay on my side, facing her, propped on an elbow. My fingers, of their own volition, traced the outlines of the bite mark. I leaned in, my lips brushing the tender skin, a silent reaffirmation of the claim. She sighed in her sleep, a soft, trusting sound, and nuzzled deeper into the pillow.
My right arm, the one she had clung to in her final, desperate climb towards release, was pinned beneath her. I felt a cool, damp patch. Carefully, I extracted my arm. There, on my skin, was a small patch of her dried saliva. She had drooled in her utter, defenseless exhaustion. The evidence of her complete surrender should have been distasteful. Instead, a wave of such profound, terrifying tenderness washed over me that I had to close my eyes against its force. My beautiful, messy, wrecked tyrant. My queen, drooling on her knight.
I spent another ten minutes just watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. This was the center of my universe. This peaceful, sleeping violence of love.
Finally, duty the duty of care, of provision pulled me from the bed. I moved silently, a ghost in our sanctuary. I righted the overturned lamp, picked up the discarded, sticky toy from the floor near the couch. I cleaned it meticulously in the bathroom sink, storing it away. I saw the remains of last night's birthday cake on the sideboard, the frosting smeared in a joyful, chaotic pattern from our post-midnight feast. I would save it.
In the kitchen, the world ordered itself under my hands. Garlic butter steak, its scent rich and savory. Crisp asparagus. A light salad. Freshly squeezed orange juice. As I worked, I filled Sushi's bowl with kibble. The automatic feeder had dispensed his breakfast, but he deserved a birthday-weekend tribute. "For the prince," I murmured as he wagged his way over. "Guard your queen."
I was setting the table when I heard the soft pad of bare feet. I turned.
There she stood, in the doorway of the bedroom, blinking sleep from her eyes. She was wearing one of my white dress shirts, the sleeves rolled haphazardly, the tails hitting her mid-thigh. My marks were on glorious display on her neck and collarbone, a stark contrast against the crisp cotton. She looked rumpled, well-loved, and impossibly young.
"Good morning, birthday girl," I said, my voice softer than I intended. "Come on. I know you're hungry. Let's eat."
She shuffled over, a sleepy smile on her lips, and kissed me a soft, morning kiss that tasted of sleep and us. I guided her to a chair. I had pre-cut her steak into perfect, bite-sized pieces. She looked at the plate, then up at me with those big, guileless eyes.
"Feed me?" she requested, her voice a husky murmur.
A spike of pure, dark pleasure shot through me. Of course. She wanted the dependency even in this. She wanted to be served, cared for, hand-fed. It was the ultimate act of trust, of submission wrapped in a playful demand.
"As my lady commands," I said, picking up her fork. I speared a piece of steak, held it to her lips. She took it, her eyes holding mine as she chewed. I then, deliberately, used the same fork to take a bite for myself. The intimacy of the shared utensil, the mingling of our essences so casually, was a ritual more binding than any contract.
We ate like that, in a silence punctuated by her soft sighs of contentment and the clink of cutlery. She told me about a ridiculous dream she'd had involving Sushi wearing a tiny tuxedo and conducting an orchestra of squirrels. I teased her about her snoring, which she vehemently denied, her cheeks puffing out in adorable indignation.
After we finished, I cleared the plates. "What does the birthday girl want to do today?" I asked, leaning against the counter.
She thought for a moment, then her expression softened into something serene. "I just want to spend it with you. Here. And Sushi. Is that okay, Haven? I don't feel like going out today. I just want to be here with you." She paused, her eyes lighting up. "How about we play board games? And some video games?"
Here. With me. The words were a balm and a cage. She was choosing the nest, voluntarily. I pulled out my phone. "Consider it done."
While I placed orders for a selection of board games to be delivered, she explored the penthouse's entertainment unit. "Haven! There's a console here!" she called out. It was an old, high-end model, likely bought by the past Althea in a fit of imagined leisure and never touched. Dusty. A relic of a life that didn't know how to have fun.
We started with the delivered board games. Snake and Ladders was a disaster for her. She consistently rolled the exact numbers that sent her plummeting down a snake's tail. "No! Not again!" she'd wail, frowning at the board with such intense, comical betrayal that I had to stifle a laugh. I won, effortlessly. Her pout was the real prize.
Chess was hopeless. I tried to explain the movements, but her eyes glazed over. "So the horsey goes in an L… but why?" We ended up playing a hybrid checkers-with-chess-pawns game of her own invention, which she also lost spectacularly but with more enthusiasm.
Then, to the couch. She scrolled through the console's store, her brow furrowed in concentration. "This one!" she announced. "It Takes Two. The reviews say it's the best co-op game ever. You have to play with someone you love." Her grin was wicked. "Think you can handle it?"
I purchased and downloaded the game. As the progress bar filled, she crawled into my lap, her oversized shirt riding up. That familiar, hungry glint was in her eye. "We have time," she whispered, and kissed me.
It was a quick, desperate tangle on the couch her riding me, my shirt the only barrier, her moans of "Haven, Haven" a psalm against her throat. Sushi, bless him, slept through it all in a sunbeam. She was insatiable, and I was her willing temple. By the time the download finished, we were both breathless, disheveled, and smiling like fools.
The irony of the game's premise was not lost on me. May and Cody, a couple on the brink of divorce, their daughter's wish magically transforming them into dolls, forcing them to cooperate to return to their bodies. Althea, nestled against my side, controller in hand, snorted.
"Well," she said, bumping my shoulder with hers. "Thank you for not signing those divorce papers, my love." She said it lightly, a joke, but it sent a cold shiver of retrospective terror down my spine. She had no idea how close we'd come, how the old Althea's poisoned, Chase-influenced fury had almost severed us forever. She kissed my cheek, a balm without knowing the wound.
She chose to play Cody, the stay-at-home dad, the more emotional, grounded one. I was May, the pragmatic engineer. As Dr. Hakim, the anthropomorphic relationship book, cheerfully forced them through increasingly outlandish trials to "fix their love because of the wish of their daughter" Althea provided a running commentary.
"Look at them! They're so bad at talking! Just say you're sorry! Ugh, Cody, you walnut, just listen to her!" She was utterly invested, analyzing their dynamic with the keen, unjaded eye of the amnesiac. "He feels unappreciated! She feels like she carries everything! It's all about… missing each other's perspective."
Her insight, applied to these digital strangers, was piercing. She was learning about relationship dynamics from a video game, and her conclusions were painfully astute.
The mini-games were her dominion. Tug-of-war, chess races, whack-a-mole. I, of course, could have dominated every one. But I let her win. I deliberately missed shots, fumbled inputs. Her victory dances were a spectacle. She'd leap up, pointing at the screen, then at me. "Haha! I win, Haven! You suck!" she'd crow, her face alight with triumphant glee.
The trash talk, the gloating from anyone else, it would have been a death sentence. From her, it was a symphony. I adored it. I loved her feeling high and mighty, powerful, victorious. In this controlled, virtual arena, I could give her the illusion of conquest. She should feel like a queen. I was merely her most devoted subject, engineering her joy.
We fought the Bumblebee Queen. Sushi, alerted by the buzzing sounds, erupted into a frenzy of protective barking, forcing us to pause and soothe our confused guardian. We marveled at the Space chapter, its low-gravity puzzles and the bombastic Moon Baboon boss fight. She was ecstatic, her laughter filling the penthouse.
In Rose's Room, at the magical Train Station, the game turned unexpectedly, beautifully romantic. The environment was a soft, snowy dreamscape. We tried the different "couple poses" the game offered silly, sweet animations where our characters hugged or danced. "Screenshot! Haven, take a screenshot!" she'd demand, and I would, capturing digital memories of a love story we were helping to repair, superimposed over our own.
Dino Island reminded her of Rex, her beloved T-Rex plushie at home. The carnival games had her squealing with delight. But then came the Palace. The dungeon crawler to meet the elephant queen, Cutie.
It started fun. A cute, cuddly elephant monarch. But the game, in its brutal metaphor for breaking down childish attachments, required us to dismember the stuffed elephant. We had to vacuum its stuffing out, break its soft parts. It was playful in execution, but psychologically gruesome.
Althea's laughter died. Her grip on the controller tightened. On screen, our doll characters cheerfully committed plushie regicide. "Haven… we have to… destroy Cutie?" Her voice was small. "But she's so sweet. She just wanted to be loved and noticed by Rose."
I saw her bottom lip tremble. The fiction had collided with her immense, empathetic heart. She couldn't bear it. The cruelty of the metaphor, even in a game, was too much for her newly tender soul to stomach.
"We can stop," I said immediately, pausing the game. "We don't have to finish it."
She nodded, looking relieved and a little sad. "I'm sorry. It's silly."
"It's not silly," I said, pulling her close. "You have a gentle heart. That is a strength, not a weakness." It was the antithesis of everything Elion Chase had tried to beat out of her.
I glanced at the time. 6 PM. A perfect exit. "Time for me to make dinner," I declared, standing up and pulling her with me.
She followed me to the kitchen, hopping up to sit on the counter, watching me as I began to prepare a simple pasta. She kept talking about the game, about the beautiful parts, about the sad parts. Then she sighed. "I still want an elephant stuffy, though. A nice one. Not to destroy. To love."
I looked over at her, my heart doing that strange, soft clench. "Alright," I said. "After dinner, we can go out if you want. To a mall. And buy you an elephant."
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really." I leaned over and kissed her nose. "Now, we eat. And then we prepare. Your majesty requires a new subject for her royal menagerie."
As I cooked, she swung her legs, chatting about what she'd name the elephant, how it would get along with Rex and her other plushies. The geometric perfection of the day the sleep, the food, the games, the tears, the laughter was complete. It was a day I had built for her, a perfect, contained world of intimacy and goofy joy. And she, in choosing to stay within it, had given me the greatest gift of all: the confirmation that my nest, for all its gilded bars, was where she wanted to be.
ALTHEA'S POV
Waking up next to Haven was my new favorite thing. Especially when I could feel her watching me. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to sleep, feeling her fingers trace the bites on my neck. It didn't tickle; it felt like she was saying hello to her handiwork. I liked it. When I finally blinked awake, it was past noon, and the room smelled like… steak?
I stumbled out, wearing Haven's shirt like a trophy dress. She was all domestic goddess at the stove. "Good morning, birthday girl," she said, and my stomach did a happy flip. Birthday girl. I was twenty-seven! I kissed her, because obviously.
She'd cut my steak into little pieces like I was a fancy toddler. It was kinda sweet. And then I had a genius idea. "Feed me?" I asked, laying on the cute. The look in her eyes… whoa. It was like I'd asked for the moon and she was already planning the rocket launch. She fed me, and then she ate off the same fork! It was so intimate it made my toes curl. We talked about stupid stuff. I told her about my dream where Sushi was a tiny maestro. She teased me about snoring (I do NOT snore, take it back!).
After, she asked what I wanted to do. The truth was, I just wanted to stay in our bubble. "I just want to be here with you. And Sushi." I saw a flash of something intense in her eyes—happiness, I think, but a really deep, quiet kind. "Board games? Video games?"
She ordered games with a few taps on her phone. I found a dusty console! Score! We started with Snake and Ladders, which was clearly rigged against me. I kept landing on snakes! Haven kept winning, and her little smug smile was adorable. Chess was a no-go. My brain said no. We made up our own game with the pieces, which I also lost, but it was fun.
Then we cuddled on the couch to pick a video game. It Takes Two looked perfect. "You have to play with someone you love," I read, grinning at her. The download was slow, so I decided to give her a little… distraction. A quick, breathless, amazing distraction right there on the couch. Sushi slept through the whole thing, the little traitor.
The game was… wild. A couple about to get divorced gets turned into dolls? And their love book is a mustachioed guy in a suit? I bumped Haven. "Well, thank you for not signing those divorce papers." I meant it as a joke, but saying it felt weirdly serious for a second. I kissed her cheek to make it light again.
Playing was a blast. I was Cody, she was May. Dr. Hakim was hilarious and kinda deep. "They just need to listen to each other!" I yelled at the screen, fully invested. The mini-games were the best. I kept beating Haven! "Haha! I win, Haven! You suck!" I'd shout, doing a victory dance. She'd just smile this soft, weirdly proud smile, like she was happy to lose. My competitive, terrifying wife was letting me win. The thought made me feel all warm and powerful.
We flew through space, fought a giant bee (Sushi freaked out), and beat up a moon baboon. In the snowy train station, the game got so pretty and romantic. We made our dolls hug and dance. "Screenshot!" I kept yelling. We were making memories inside a game about fixing a broken marriage. It felt… significant.
I loved Dino Island—it reminded me of Rex! But then… the elephant. Cutie. She was so big and cute and loved her castle. And the game wanted us to… destroy her. To vacuum out her stuffing and break her. My smile vanished. On screen, our little dolls were happily tearing apart this sweet, lonely elephant queen.
My throat got tight. "Haven… we have to destroy Cutie?" I whispered. It felt awful. Mean. She just wanted to be loved.
Haven paused the game immediately. "We can stop." No hesitation. No calling me silly. Just understanding. "You have a gentle heart. That is a strength." She said it like it was a fact, like my softness was something to be proud of, not a flaw. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. At least, not that I could remember.
She saved the day by announcing dinner. I sat on the counter, watching her cook, the sad elephant feeling slowly fading. "I still want an elephant stuffy, though," I mused. "A nice one. Not to destroy. To love."
She looked over from the stove, her gaze so tender it made my heart ache. "Alright. After dinner, we can go out if you want. To a mall. And buy you an elephant."
My jaw dropped. "Really?"
"Really." She leaned in and kissed my nose. My nose. I melted.
As she cooked, I planned. My elephant would be gray and soft. Maybe I'd name her something. She'd be friends with Rex. I'd make Haven hug her too.
The whole day had been perfect. Lazy, silly, intimate. We'd played, we'd laughed, I'd cried over a digital stuffed animal, and she'd understood. It was a birthday I'd never remember forgetting, and the first one I'd always remember having. In our nest, at the top of the world, with my terrifying, wonderful wife who would wage war on my sadness and conquer a mall for a plush elephant. Twenty-seven was starting pretty great.
Okay, so going out in public after a… vigorous birthday celebration requires strategy. I stood in front of the penthouse's full-length mirror, turning this way and that. The marks Haven had left were… prolific. A love map written in bruises and bites. They made me feel claimed, sexy, and slightly like I'd lost a fight with a very affectionate panther. But I was about to be a public figure again. The album announcement was out. The "Amnesiac Songstress in Love" narrative was cooking. I couldn't exactly show up looking like I'd been mauled, even if I secretly loved it.
I settled on a soft, cream-colored turtleneck and a long, flowing skirt in a dusky rose. It covered the neck business and felt elegantly cozy. I emerged from the bedroom to find Haven already dressed. My breath caught. She was in a black cashmere turtleneck and tailored black trousers, a long, charcoal grey trench coat draped over her arm. She looked less like a CEO and more like a shadow made flesh—a beautiful, dangerous shadow about to step into a noir film.
"Damn," I breathed, leaning against the doorframe. "You look like you're about to assassinate someone."
She turned, her dark eyes sweeping over me with that possessive heat that never failed to make my knees weak. A slow, predatory smile touched her lips. "Only if they stare at you too long."
I giggled, the sound nervous and excited. "Noted. No staring at the birthday girl's wife, or face certain doom."
We drove to a part of the city I didn't recognize, to a mall that didn't look like a mall. It was more like a giant, glittering jewelry box. "The Vault," Haven said as the car slid to a stop. "Members only. Discretion guaranteed." The security at the entrance weren't just guards; they were like sleek, polite sentinels. They bowed slightly. "Ms. Hartwell. Ms. Vale. A pleasure."
Inside, it was silent opulence. Marble floors, soaring ceilings, soft classical music. The shops weren't stores; they were "ateliers" and "salons." No screaming kids, no crowded food courts. It was a mall for ghosts with unlimited credit cards. We walked hand-in-hand, my boots making soft clicks on the stone.
Then I saw it. A shop front that looked like a storybook cottage plopped into this palace of minimalism. 'The Menagerie: Bespoke Companions.' The window was filled with the most exquisite, absurdly detailed stuffed animals I'd ever seen. A fox in a tiny waistcoat. A sloth wearing a graduation cap. A dragon with glittering emerald scales.
I tugged Haven's hand. "In here!"
The inside smelled of clean fabric and faintly of lavender. A saleswoman with a perfectly calm demeanor glided over. "Welcome. How may we… ah, Mrs. Vale. Mrs. Hartwell. An honor." She didn't blink at our turtlenecks. Discretion, indeed.
I was browsing, my heart doing little happy flips, when I saw it. In the corner, sitting regally on a velvet pouf, was an elephant. Not a cartoon elephant. A beautifully made, grey felt elephant with kind, black bead eyes, long lashes, and a trunk that curled delicately. It was chunky, soft-looking, and perfect.
"Yay!" I squeaked, forgetting all decorum. I ran over and hugged it. It was even softer than it looked. I turned, the elephant clutched to my chest. "Haven! I want this! I want this!!"
I carried my new friend to the counter. The saleswoman, whose name tag said 'Shelly,' smiled. "An excellent choice. That's Barnaby but we can change the name. He's one of a kind. We can also customize him further, if you wish. Add a voice box, custom clothing…"
My brain sparked. "Voice box? Can it record? Like, can I put someone's voice in it?"
"Of course," Shelly said, her voice a model of patience. "We can program up to five sound samples. A button on the paw activates them in sequence."
A brilliant, devilish idea bloomed in my mind. I looked at Haven, who was watching me with that soft, amused expression she reserved for my antics. Shelly handed me a small, sleek digital recorder.
I marched over to Haven, holding the recorder up to her mouth like a microphone. "Say you love me, Haven."
For a second, I saw it a flicker of surprise, then something warmer, deeper. She didn't blush, but her eyes did that crinkly thing. She reached up, her hand covering mine on the recorder, her touch electric. She looked directly into my eyes, her voice dropping to that low, intimate register that was just for me.
"I love you, Althea."
My heart did a backflip. The recorder light blinked.
"Next," I whispered, my own voice shaky.
She didn't hesitate. "I love you so, so much more than you know."
Click.
"Next."
"I'll always be here for you." she winked
Click.
"Next."
"Please take good care of yourself."
Click. That one hit different. It was less a romantic pledge and more a plea, a protector's worry.
"Last one."
She leaned in, her lips almost brushing the recorder, her gaze locked on mine. "I want to spend my whole lifetime with you."
Click.
The silence in the shop was absolute. My face felt like it was on fire. I'd meant to tease her, to make the unflappable Haven Hartwell squirm. Instead, she'd turned it into a solemn, beautiful vow, and I was the one utterly wrecked. She gently took the recorder from my numb fingers and handed it to a slightly pink-cheeked Shelly.
I floated over to her, emotions a jumbled mess. I playfully punched her chest. "You!!!" I pouted. "Hmph! I shall buy you another stuff toy so you can have my voice too! Now, choose something that reminds you of me!"
Haven's gaze swept the shop, analytical, assessing each plush like a business acquisition. It landed on a shelf. A penguin. Not just any penguin a chubby, adorable Adélie penguin with a white chest and a smug little face.
I raised an eyebrow. "Why a penguin?"
She leaned in, her breath a warm whisper against my ear that made me shiver. "Because you're short." A pause. "And because you're insatiable. And mostly horny." She pulled back, a full, wicked smirk on her face. "Well, it's the Adélie penguin, which is notoriously… amorous during mating season. But you know, a penguin is a penguin."
My jaw dropped. Then a competitive fire lit in my belly. Oh, it's on.
She placed the penguin on the counter and took the second voice box recorder Shelly offered. She handed it to me, her eyes glinting with challenge. "Two can play that game, Hartwell," I muttered under my breath.
Since she called me horny, okay. Fine. I brought the recorder to my lips. I didn't care who heard. I pitched my voice low, trying for seductive, hoping I didn't just sound like I had a cold.
"Haven, I love you… you're so deep in me I love it."
Click. Shelly discreetly studied a display of felt antlers.
"Haven, do it faster."
Click. Haven's eyebrow twitched.
"Haven, I'm about to cum please cum with me."
Click. I saw her knuckles whiten where she gripped the counter.
"Who's my good girl? It's you, Haven my wife."
Click. A muscle jumped in her jaw.
"Come on now, Haven, you can do better than that!"
Click.
I finished, a triumphant, blazing grin on my face. Haven looked… shocked. Deliciously, utterly shocked. Then her expression melted into one of pure, unadulterated hunger. I winked. "Two can play your game, Haven. But I play better." I winked again for good measure and placed the recorder on the counter with a flourish.
I saw Haven turn to Shelly. Her posture shifted, the softness evaporating. She was all CEO, all lethal grace. She spoke too low for me to hear, but I saw Shelly's eyes widen slightly, then dip into a respectful, fearful nod. Haven took out her wallet and extracted a thick stack of bills, placing it on the counter next to the recorder. Hush money. The message was clear: If a single syllable of what is on these recorders leaves this shop, I will erase you.
Shelly, now looking both terrified and incredibly wealthy, informed us the customization would take two hours. Haven pulled out her phone, made a brief call, and within minutes, two large, quiet men in impeccable suits entered the shop. "Watch the goods," Haven said, her tone leaving no room for question. They nodded, taking up positions by the counter like stuffed-anjoy sentinels.
We left the shop. The rest of the mall was our playground. We found a hidden, soundproofed arcade with vintage pinball machines and racing simulators. We played for an hour, Haven surprisingly competitive at a shooting game, me dominating at a dancing game that made her laugh at my ridiculous moves. We shared an obscenely expensive sundae at a tucked-away ice cream parlor.
Two hours flew by. When we returned to The Menagerie, the atmosphere was tense but efficient. Shelly presented our toys with trembling hands.
Barnaby the elephant was magnificent. He wore a tiny suit of silver-grey felt armor, a little knight's helmet, and a minuscule velvet cape. He looked noble and ready for adventure. I hugged him immediately.
The penguin… well. The penguin was dressed in a perfect, tiny replica of one of my favorite oversized band t-shirts. It was absurd and perfect.
Shelly demonstrated the voice boxes. I pressed Barnaby's paw.
"I love you, Althea." Haven's voice, clear and tender, filled the quiet shop.
Press. "I love you so, so much more than you know."
Press. "I'll always be here for you."
My eyes welled up.
Haven took her penguin, a strange softness on her face. She pressed its flipper.
My own, attemptedly-seductive voice echoed back: "Haven, I love you… you're so deep in me I love it."
She didn't press it again. She just held the penguin, a look of profound, dark satisfaction on her face. She had my voice, my most intimate taunts, captured in a plush toy. It was somehow the most possessive thing I'd ever seen.
We left the mall, me clutching my knight-elephant, Haven carrying her horny-penguin in a dignified shopping bag. In the car, I was buzzing. "That was the best birthday present ever," I sighed, resting my head on Barnaby's soft head.
Haven reached over, her hand squeezing my thigh. "It's not over yet, birthday girl."
HAVEN'S POV
Watching her choose her armor for the day was its own intimate ritual. The high-necked sweater was a wise, modest choice. It covered the evidence of my devotion, my claim. It presented a clean slate to the world, while I knew the truth lay mapped beneath the fabric. When I saw her in it, the contrast between the innocent clothing and the knowledge of what it hid was almost unbearably erotic.
My own attire was armor of a different kind. The black turtleneck was a second skin, the trench coat a uniform. She saw it instantly.
"Damn. You look like you're about to assassinate someone."
I turned, taking her in—my beautiful, marked wife playing at normalcy. The smile that came to my lips was genuine. "Only if they stare at you too long." It was not a joke. It was a simple statement of operational parameters.
The Vault was the only place I would take her for something as seemingly trivial as a stuffed animal. Its security was absolute, its clientele bound by nondisclosure agreements more stringent than those of most governments. When the guards bowed, it was with the understanding that they saw nothing, remembered nothing.
Inside, her delight was a tangible force. She was a child in a fairy tale, and I was the keeper of the realm. When she saw the toy shop, her entire being lit up. The Menagerie was a frivolity I would normally disdain, but for her, it became a palace of wonders.
Her discovery of the elephant—'Barnaby'—was a moment of pure, unscripted joy. Her "I want this!" was a command my soul was built to obey. When she asked about the voice box, a dangerous, beautiful idea began to form in her mind. I saw it spark in her eyes.
She marched over with the recorder, a queen demanding tribute. "Say you love me, Haven."
The request, in this sterile, controlled environment, was a vulnerability. But it was her vulnerability to demand, and mine to give. I covered her hand with mine, anchoring us both. I looked into her eyes and spoke the first, fundamental truth.
"I love you, Althea."
The words, captured digitally, felt more binding than any legal document. Each subsequent phrase she requested was a layer of that truth. More than you know. Always here for you. The fourth one, Take care of yourself, slipped out—the Alpha's eternal, grating worry. The final one, My whole lifetime, was the vow beneath all vows.
She was flustered, adorable. Her playful punches were feather-light. Her counter-challengea toy that reminded me of her was brilliant.
The penguin was an immediate, perfect symbol. Small but formidable. Seemingly formal but, in the case of the Adélie, driven by a relentless, singular focus on pair-bonding and… procreation. Insatiable. It was her.
When I whispered the reason in her ear, the blush that crept over her skin was my reward. Then she took the second recorder.
What she chose to record… it was a nuclear strike of intimacy. My carefully constructed control wavered as her voice, lowered to that husky, pretend-seductive tone, filled the quiet shop with phrases ripped from our most private moments. Deep in me. Do it faster. I'm about to cum. Each one was a brand. Who's my good girl? It's you, Haven my wife That one, the playful dominance, sent a shockwave of heat straight to my core. The final taunt, You can do better, was a challenge and a promise.
She was right. She played better. She had turned a silly toy customization into a game of psychological warfare and won by sheer, audacious nerve. The shock on my face was real. The hunger that followed was volcanic.
I turned to Shelly. The woman's professional calm had cracked, revealing understandable human fluster. My voice dropped to its most lethally calm register. "The confidentiality of this transaction is paramount. If any recording, any detail of what was said here today, ever surfaces, the consequences will be… comprehensive. This shop. Your suppliers. Your personal assets. Everything will be dust. Do you comprehend?"
She nodded, pale. I placed a stack of cash on the counter enough to buy her silence ten times over, and to make the threat financially tangible. The hush money was both a bribe and a reminder: I could give, and I could take away.
Leaving two of my most discreet security men to guard the toys was non-negotiable. Those recordings were now among the most sensitive assets in my empire.
Our time in the arcade was a surreal decompression. Watching her dance with abandon, sharing a sundae, feeling her laugh it was the beautiful, normalcy she craved, framed within the fortress of my control. It was the life I had built for her: freedom within absolute safety.
Returning to the shop, the toys were transformed. Her elephant, now a knight, was absurdly touching. It represented her new self the amnesiac trying to be brave, protected by armor she was still growing into.
But the penguin… my penguin. Dressed in a replica of her shirt. When I pressed the flipper and her recorded voice filled the air "Haven, I love you… you're so deep in me I love it"—it was not embarrassment I felt. It was a savage, possessive triumph. She had given me this. She had willingly captured a version of her most vulnerable, passionate self and handed it to me in plushie form. It was a token more powerful than any key to any city. It was the key to her, in her own voice.
In the car, she sighed, hugging her knight. "That was the best birthday present ever."
I squeezed her thigh, the promise of the night ahead a live wire in my blood. "It's not over yet, birthday girl."
The penguin sat in the bag at my feet. A small, soft, black-and-white bomb containing the sound of her surrender. Later, in the privacy of our nest, I would make her say those words again, live, while I showed her just how much 'better' I could do. The game was ongoing. And I always won the final round.