He beams, thrilled by my misery.
But suddenly, he flinches. Like someone struck his cheek.
Odd.
Then Gustav slips off the table and strolls back to his seat. When he sits, he drops with dramatic flair, and crosses his legs lazily, as if we aren’t discussing my entire sexual autonomy.
“Rule three,” he says, picking up his fork, “you will pleasure me.”
My voice cracks. “Sexually?”
“Da. Suck my cock. Make me cum. You know, be useful.”
“I use teeth,” I warn flatly, so fast I impress myself. Although, I haven’t so much as seen a dick in person.
Without missing a beat, he replies, “Good. I like pain.”
I groan in utter exhaustion.
He points his fork at me, wrist loose. “But you must do itwillingly.”
“Then you won’t get anything,” I huff. “Because I willneverdo anything willingly with you.”
His head snapsto the wall,his voice freaking scary.
“Of course I see she needs St. Andrews! What? I am being nice! Too nice.” He scoffs and smacks the tabletop. “Yes, da. Very well.”
My eyes bulge, unblinking. I side-eye the nearest guard who watches Gustav, equally stiff as a board as I am.
I swallow hard when Gustav redirects his gaze to me.
“I’m a reasonable man. I’ll compromise on the rule. You can pleasure me willinglyorunwillingly.”
I stammer, but no words form. Everything I say makes things worse. Be silent, Peighton. I need time to plan.
A cough. A chain rattles. I don’t dare look.
His gaze flicks to the man on the cross.
“Quiet. I’m eating,” he says simply.
My stomach twists.
“You okay, my pathetic servant?” he adds.
My lip quivers, but the truth bursts free like I have a death wish:
“Ugh! I just wanted a loving husband. A real love,” I say, rubbing my face. “All I ever wanted.”
Because I didn’t grow up dreaming of diamonds or dynasties or being owned like a bargaining chip. I dreamed of someone holding my face gently, brushing their thumb across my cheek, telling me they picked me because they wanted me, and not because a council decreed it.
I wanted first dates, first kisses, first times that meant something. Not a forced marriage to a man who looks at me like a doe he can hunt and kill.
Maybe wanting love makes me stupid, but wanting nothing at all would leave me dead inside.
He laughs harshly at my silly dream. “Dumb American woman.”
Then he surprises me.
