The question hangs between us. I watch her face, seeing the moment my words land, the way her expression shifts from that cool control to something more raw.
"I don't know," she admits quietly, and that disarms me more than any command could.
We stare at each other, my hand still wrapped around her wrist, her body still pressed against mine. The silence stretches, heavy with things neither of us wants to say.
Finally, she pulls away and sits up. The loss of her warmth is immediate and unwelcome, which only pisses me off more.
"You're right," she says, standing and reaching for her robe. "I should go."
And just like that, the walls are back up. Her voice is cool again, distant, as if the last few hours didn't happen.
I should be relieved. Should want her gone. Instead, I feel something that might be disappointment.
Fuck.
She ties her robe, her movements sharp and controlled. Every inch the wealthy Lactari widow again, no trace of the woman who moaned while tasting me, who curled against my chest like she belonged there.
"Same time tomorrow evening," she says, moving toward the door. All business now. "Be ready."
"And if I'm not?"
She pauses, her hand on the door handle. Looks back at me over her shoulder. "Then I'll make you ready. I’m not opposed to using rope. Your choice in how difficult you want it to be."
The door opens. Closes. The lock clicks.
And I'm alone again.
I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, my body still humming with the aftermath of what we did. What she did to me. I can still feel her hands on my skin, still hear the sound she made when she tasted me.
Incredible.
That's what she called me. Like I was something special, something more than just a meal.
But I'm not. She made that quite clear.
So why did she stay? Why did she lie here with her guard down, like she actually gave a shit?
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to stop the wayward thoughts. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Whatever happened tonight doesn't change that fact.
But I can still feel the ghost of her touch on my skin. Still smell her scent on the sheets. And I hate that I’m already counting down the hours until she comes back.
Primsyn
I makeit back to my chambers before my composure completely cracks.
The door closes behind me, and I lean against it, my hands shaking, my breath coming too fast. What the fuck did I just do? Lying there with him like we were...like we were anything other than what we are.
Owner and owned.
Mistress and livestock.
I push away from the door and move to the washbasin, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection stares back at me, and I barely recognize the woman I see. Eyes too bright. Cheeks flushed. Hair wild from sleep.
I look like I've been thoroughly fucked, even though we did nothing beyond what was necessary for feeding. Just his releasein my mouth. Just me drinking him in. Just lying together afterward like idiots.
Just.
There's nothing "just" about any of it, and I know it.
