Standing as ever, silent in the shadows. One arm bound stiff against his chest, but posture unyielding, gaze sweeping, grey eyes catching Aerion’s across the distance.
Aerion felt his pulse hitch. He turned back quickly, burying himself in noise, in wine, in smiles sharp enough to cut.
But as the night wore on, and laughter dulled to hollow echoes, he found himself wishing—furiously, shamefully—that Clyde would say something more.
Anything.
The door closed behind them.
The lady’s breath was already quick, laughter slipping through her teeth like she’d won some prize. “Will they talk?” she asked, eyes alight with wine and vanity.
“They always do,” Aerion said, his voice silk over glass.
He stepped into her space, and when she tilted her chin up to meet him, he kissed her. Not gently. Not tenderly. Not with heat.
Withneed.
His mouth opened against hers, his tongue pushing past her teeth like he meant to drown in her. She made a startled sound, then melted, fingers winding in the collar of his robe. It slipped from his shoulders as he walked her backward toward the bed.
She gasped when the backs of her knees hit the mattress. He didn’t pause. He pressed her down and followed, dragging her skirts up her thighs with practiced hands.
“My lord—” she breathed, one hand gripping his arm. “Wait—”
He shoved her dress higher, baring her. She wasn’t wearing anything beneath, and when his fingers brushed the inside of her thigh, she whimpered and opened her legs without protest.
“You’re wet already,” he said flatly. “How flattering.”
She laughed, breathless. “You’re not what I expected.”
“No,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her neck, “I never am.”
He pressed the head of his cock against her, hard, already aching, and sank in with one smooth, punishing thrust. She cried out, legs tightening around his waist.
“Oh—gods—”
Aerion didn’t speak. He gripped her hips and fucked her like she was a memory he was trying to erase—quick, deep, relentless. The bed creaked, headboard striking the wall in rhythm. Her moans echoed off the stone walls.
She clawed at his back, gasped his name, arched beneath him. “Yes—like that—fuck—Aerion—”
But he was somewhere else.
Not here.
Not inside her.
Not really.
His eyes were open, fixed past her shoulder, staring into the dark.
Clyde.
Grey eyes.
Clyde’s voice:You are lord enough to make your own choice.
He came with a sharp, silent breath—no groan, no sound. Just a tightening of his jaw, a spasm in his thighs, his hands bruising her hips as he spilled into her like he was emptying outeverythingthat still lived inside him.
And it didn’t help.
