Her head falls back against the stone wall, eyes fluttering shut as I thrust my finger deeper, then add a second and a third, stretching her as though I’m preparing her to take my cock. Her breath hitches, and she braces herself, but I feel her trembling, the tension coiling tighter, her need clawing its way to the surface.
“I want you to stop teasing me,” she finally admits, her voice strained, the words dripping with frustration and lust. “Please,my lord.”
Her submission stirs something primal, a wild urge to take her, claim her here and now, with my teeth marks on her throat and my hot seed dripping from her cunt, consequences be damned. But beneath that raw desire is another, softer need—to protect her, to keep her safe, even if it means protecting her from the darkness within me. It’s a battle I fight every time I’m near her, every time she looks at me with a mixture of challenge and surrender.
“Begging already?” I taunt, though even I hear the strain of my own control slipping. “You’re not nearly done paying for that insolence earlier, my naughty nymph.”
I thrust my fingers deeper, curling them just so, hitting the spot that makes her cry out. Her body jerks, hips rising to meet my hand, and I grind my palm against her bundle of nerves, giving her the friction she craves. I savor the way her breath catches, the way her whimpers fill the space around us, mingling with the darkness.
“Tell me you belong to me,” I demand, my voice rough as I work her with practiced skill. “Say it.”
Her eyes snap open, locking on to mine, wild and desperate. There’s a flicker of defiance in her gaze, abrief spark of rebellion, but it’s quickly consumed by the waves of pleasure threatening to drown her.
“I…I belong to you,” she gasps, her thighs trembling as I bring her closer and closer to the edge. “My lord, I—Oh my—”
Her words dissolve into a broken gasp as her body shudders, her release writhing just beneath the surface. I press my fingers deeper, the final stroke pushing her over the edge, sending her spiraling into a climax that rips a moan from her throat, sharp and sweet, echoing against the narrow alley walls. Her body bucks against my hand, thighs clenching, and her cunt clings to me as the waves crash over her. Her head falls forward to rest against my chest, her breaths coming in ragged, uneven pants.
“You did well, my pretty nymph,” I murmur, kissing the top of her head as the last tremors fade from her body. “But we’ve lingered too long. We must get you to the trial so you can make me proud.”
I pull back, adjusting her clothing, tracing the fabric that clings to her. With a final glance, I lead her to the street, our roles slipping back into place as lord and pawn. In the eyes of the world, we are distant, indifferent, bound by nothing but duty. But beneath the surface, the war of my opposing desires rages on—the fierce, possessive need to claim her fully and the more dangerous instinct to keep her safe, to let her go before I lose all control.
For now, the latter is winning, holding the darkness at bay. But I don’t know how much longer I can resist the temptation to ensure she knows exactly who she belongs to.
Chapter Ten
Elara
Throughout the evening, I glide effortlessly through the opulent ballroom, performing a myriad of tasks with practiced grace. Balancing a gold tray heavy with delicate flutes of champagne, I navigate the elegantly dressed crowd. The countless hours spent under Sally’s watchful eye have honed my abilities to perfection. My posture is impeccable, shoulders back and head held high, yet my gaze remains respectfully lowered. I discreetly collect empty glasses, offering fresh drinks with a graceful bow, ensuring no guest is left wanting.
But the nobles aren’t who snag my attention. The other pawns moving around the room each have a silk collar around their neck, but subtle differences set them apart. Some glide with practiced ease, veterans of countless events, while others are nervous, gazes darting about like frightened mice.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the young pawn next to me struggling with a heavy platter of horsd’oeuvres. Her hands tremble, and a sheen of sweat dots her brow. She stumbles as she approaches a nearby group of guests, and the tray tilts precariously. Swiftly, I step in beside her, steadying the platter with a gentle hand. Our eyes meet, and I offer an encouraging smile before seamlessly continuing on my path.
This trial isn’t only about executing tasks. It’s a test of composure under pressure. A test I know I can pass.
A bit later, as I present a selection of canapés to a group of older women, Lady Clayton approaches. Her sharp eyes meet mine as she selects a morsel from the tray, and a flicker of approval crosses her face before she moves on. It’s brief, but I know I’m in. I’m no longer just playing a role; I’m embodying it.
We’re dismissed as the evening winds down, and the grand hall begins to empty, laughter and music fading into the night. I make my way to the servant’s entrance where Ronan waits for me by the arched doorway, his tall frame partially illuminated by the soft glow of lantern light.
Clutched in my hands is a sealed envelope—the coveted invitation to the Mabon Festival. I consider teasing him, pretending I’d failed, but as I approach, something within me shifts. The desire to please him outweighs the impulse to joke.
“You did it,” he says, noticing the envelope. He reaches out, and our fingers brush as I hand it to him. He breaks the seal and scans the invitation. “I knew you would,” he adds, stepping closer.
The scent of him envelops me, making my head swim. Heat radiates from his body, the subtle tension in his posture mirroring the fluttering in my chest.
“Perhaps I had good motivation.” I smile.
“Modesty suits you,” he teases back.
“Don’t get used to it.”
His gaze dips briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes, and I catch my breath. I want to be alone with him, away from prying eyes and the constraints of our pretend roles.
“Shall we head back?” he suggests, his voice laced with a subtle undertone that promises more than just a simple stroll.
We walk side by side through the dimly lit streets, the glow of lamplights guiding our way. The town is quiet at this hour, the bustle of the day replaced by the serene hush of night.
Our conversation is minimal, but the silence is comfortable. Each brush of our arms, each sidelong glance, heightens the anticipation coiling within me.
