Page 108 of One for the Money
Matteo notices the higher concentration of women than usual the moment I do and spins around, giving his back to the crowd as he struts backward into the ring.
“Whip?” he mouths, raising an eyebrow.
I’m not always up for a whip show, but I feel good tonight, and it’s always a real fun time. I think this crowd would eat it up.
We’ll start the show with the whip showcase, since it’s the most active part for me. As he introduces us, describing me as his “bitch” which is totally fine by me, and gets the crowd roaring with applause, I sneak to the side of the ring and back to the staging area, grabbing the long, black whip.
“Quick Cut, where the fuck did you go?” Matteo’s voice rings around the tent. “Did you think you could avoid your punishment?”
“No, Maestro,” I drawl, strutting beside him. “But forgive me, I was hoping we could do things a little differently tonight.”
“Differently?”
I unfurl the whip, cracking it loudly in the air. “Differently.”
Matteo is perfectly capable of wielding the whip, but for this act, I “chase” him with it around the ring, trying to gain the upper hand. It twists the rest of the show into a punishment for me thinking I could overtake him.
I fucking love being punished.
We’re both vers, meaning we switch off topping and bottoming, but I am a masochist. I wouldn’t call Matteo a sadist, but he’s willing to help me chase the pain that so often accompanies pleasure for me. From the moment we met, he’s been understanding of the fact that sometimes Ineed to feel pain, and he’s helped me find it safely ever since.
Plus, I’m pent the fuck up from watching Alex fuck Dexter and not getting a taste myself, so if it gets a little rougher tonight than usual, I will not complain one bit.
I crack the whip at his feet, and my Beta jumps, dodging each of my strikes. To the audience, it appears to be a closer call than it actually is, which is the secret to acts like this.
They have to think he’s in danger of being seriously injured if he gets caught by me. A whip fucking hurts, but it’s nothing an Alpha can’t heal pretty quickly. A Beta, though? That’ll take a few days.
Eventually, Matteo throws his arm out, snatching the end of my whip from the air. It wraps around his wrist and arm, and he yanks it from me. The audience cheers, which proves that they’re not rooting for the underdog tonight.
They never do. People can say they want an underdog until they’re blue in the face, but really, they want to see a dog under them.
They’ll want to see me punished for this insubordination.
Matteo stalks across the ring, snatching me up by the front of my shirt. When we first showcased this act to Jude, he wasn’t sure how people would take a smaller Beta bossing around an Alpha, but Matteo knew the power fantasy would play well to Beta crowds.
He was right.
I’m thrown, gently, to the ground, but I play it up, making it look painful.
Do they give Oscars for circus acts?
My gorgeous Beta circles me, looking down his nose at where I am exaggeratingly panting on the floor.
“Q, what were you thinking?” he snarls, the lavaliermic on his jacket making the audience feel like they’re listening in on a private conversation. “It’s clear I have not done enough to show you your place.”
He pulls two knives from where he has them sheathed at his waist under his blazer. “You know what this means.” The tip of the blade bites into the skin under my chin, and I bite my tongue to keep from groaning. My hips thrust forward without conscious thought. “Time for target practice.”
I push up on my elbows, letting the tip of the blade dig further into my skin. Matteo and I are no strangers to knife play, so this type of sting is rookie shit. “I would prefer not.” The audience gasps at my insolent tone, and I drink in their attention. “When will you accept that I am your perfect match, Maestro?”
He adjusts his wrist, making it look like the blade is going to slice through me, but it’s not there yet, only barely breaking through the skin, and I rise to my feet, palms held up, allowing my Beta to lead me to the not-yet-spinning target. As he straps me to it, he makes a tsking noise with his tongue.
“You are my perfect match, Q,” he remarks, locking my right wrist to the surface. “But it feels like you’re the one who has forgotten the truth of our relationship, if your little show is anything to go by.” He finishes locking me to the target and grins sinfully at me. “You belong to me. You will never best me.” He presses his body tightly against mine, where I make a show of bucking against the contact. “I will always prevail.”
As quickly as he touched me, he’s gone, holding his arms wide, a blade in hand as he spins toward the audience. “What do you think, lovely people of Spruceville? How many blades has my boy earned?”
The audience starts shouting numbers, from two totwenty, and Matteo holds a hand to his ear, listening to them all. Once they calm, he nods succinctly. “The people have spoken. Twelve it is.”
A stagehand who joined us a few months ago, Conner, comes running out with a roll of knives and hands them to Matteo. He thanks the stagehand and spreads them out on a small table near my target.
