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I want to ask him how he knows that name, but I stop myself because, chances are, Warren used it as an alibi instead of using Gemini.
“I’m not half of those things,” I confess in confusion because I can’t see the correlation whatsoever. I’m the opposite when you think about it.
“That’s exactly the problem.” The way his hot breath now brushes against my ear follows with the lightest tug of my earlobe. The pull doesn’t ignite pain—the opposite—just as the sensation of silk runs along my leg.
It ignites goosebumps along the trail it ascends upon, leaving prickles of anticipation and uncertainty to tango and dance upon unknown territory.
“You’re defiant. Go against what you were born to become. A carved masterpiece that’s marked an anomaly. In many instances, that can be an advantage,” he admits. His hands are next to trail along the same path the silk cloth journeyed, only his touch is far more possessive and antagonizingly slow.
He’s taunting me. Waiting for a reaction. For me to push him away.
This a test of whether I can submit by keeping my word.
“I’m confident you can’t sing and attract a man who will give you but a glance and confess to wanting you for eternity,” he mutters in satisfaction while his hands stop at my upper thighs.
It takes everything not to flinch, but I can’t stop myself from further pressing my legs together. He doesn’t need to acknowledge the effect he already has over me.
Especially if he’s keen on heightening his other senses, including smell.
“But I wonder if you can scream?” he growls as his hands slowly sink further into my flesh. His grip is almost unbearable, but I endure it. I have to because no one is going to come and save me.
This is the den of carnage I waltzed into.
I must reap my rewards.
“Better yet,” he continues, leaving me to wonder if he can hear my rapidly beating heart. “Can my defiant canary moan?”
“I could.” I sound out of breath despite exhibiting no physical activity. I can barely concentrate on his words with how his aroma engulfs me. It’s almost too much now, just like the other senses that he’s messing with every chance he gets.
“You could,” he emphasizes with dissatisfaction. “I never said it was a voluntary choice. You would perform for your Ruthless Lord, Verena. Or else, you may find this pretty little neck of yours snapped like a twig.”
I gasp at the bite that only sends waves of warmth with circuits of fear. Despite how dire this situation is, my body is a betrayer in desperate need of pleasure. It’s why when he sucks my flesh, I can only arch my back and muffle a moan.
“So, despite entering our lives with defiant strength and throwing our expensive weapon back at your Kings, you have a feminine side to you,” he grunts against my sensitive flesh. He forces me to remain still, thanks to his hands that are still gripping my thighs as tightly as he can. “Are you going to keep your end of the bargain?”
“Yes,” I whimper, almost pleadingly.
What choice do I have?
That’s the part I don’t want to acknowledge. The understanding deep within that I do most certainly have a choice in this matter.
I can go against him. Say no.
Pretend as if I don’t pick up on how his breaths have grown shallow and swift, proving that I may not be the only one starving for a passionate connection.
Even if it’s all fake.
Doesn’t matter now.
I just want a glimpse of what this journey may entail.
“You want this, yes?” he urges for a response while I feel the silky fabric brush along my face. It’s pressed along my eyes, preparing to become the perfect blindfold.
To hide whatever sins we’re about to commit.
“Yes,” I repeat, permitting him.
He’ll use it against me later, yet the anticipation is desperate to be answered.
