I pressed my forehead against the window. The chill did nothing to cool the heat still coursing through me.
I’d sent him away. Told him to forget what he’d seen. As if forgetting were possible. As if either of us could unsee what had been revealed in that room.
He wanted this. Maybe he didn’t understand it yet, maybe he was fighting it the way I’d fought when I was first introduced to the lifestyle, but his body knew, and God help me, I wanted to show him everything.
My unyielding desire had been manageable before tonight. Painful, yes. Relentless, yes. But contained. I could look at them across the dinner table and remind myself why I couldn’t have them. I could retreat to my tower and let the ache subside into a dull, familiar throb.
Now, the container had cracked. Oliver had seen what I was. He’d stood in the heart of my hidden self and responded with arousal instead of revulsion. Had looked at me with those green eyes and saidYes, sirlike the words were pulled from deep within him.
I couldn’t unknow that. I couldn’t unfeel the surge of possessive desire that had flooded through me when I’d heard him speak.
The clock on my nightstand showed half past midnight. I should try to sleep. Tomorrow would requirecomposure, distance, and the reconstruction of the walls that had taken years to build.
Instead, my feet carried me to the door.
The corridor was dark, but my body navigated the familiar path with the same rhythm my mind churned. I wasn’t going to them. I was burning off restless energy the way I’d done a thousand nights before.
The lie lasted until I reached the guest wing.
I stopped at the entrance to the corridor where their rooms waited. My pulse hammered, and my fists clenched at my sides.
Return to your tower. They’re not yours to take.
A sound reached me through the darkness. Muffled. Distant. But unmistakable.
A moan.
I froze.
Then I heard another sound. Ophelia’s voice. Her words were unclear, but the tone was unmistakable. It was breathless, urgent, and wanting.
They were together. Right now, in one of those rooms, they were touching each other. Doing what I’d imagined them doing in my weakest moments. What I’d forbidden myself from picturing because the images were too vivid, too tempting, too likely to destroy the last of my restraint.
I should leave. Every rational part of my mind screamed at me to turn around and walk away. Whatever was happening in that room was none of my concern. They were adults. They were free to do as they pleased with each other.
Still, I walked forward. Every step felt inevitable. Each one came harder than the last. The sounds grew louder as I approached—soft cries, rustling fabric, the wet sounds of mouths meeting skin.
I stopped outside Ophelia’s partially open door. A sliver of darkness showed where it had been left ajar, as if the universe were testing me. Tempting me. Daring me to look.
Don’t.
I did.
Through the gap, I could see them. Oliver had her pinned to the wall, her nightgown hiked up around her thighs, his hand working between her legs. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, and she was panting, writhing, and chasing the pleasure he was giving her.
They were beautiful together. Tangled and lost in each other.
My cock was hard. Painfully so. Straining beneath my trousers with an urgency I hadn’t felt in years.
The wise thing would be to close this door, return to my room, and pretend I never saw this.
Instead, I pushed it open.
They froze and turned, staring at me with identical expressions of shock, chests heaving, skin flushed with the arousal that the interruption had not diminished.
“Did I tell you to stop?”
The silence stretched between us. Oliver’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, but neither of them pulled away from the other. Neither of them tried to cover themselves or stammer excuses.
