“I’m sure you have more than this to hate me for.”
I close my mouth around her nipple again, and the moan she gives me is long, low, and utterly genuine. Her nails rake down my back, harder this time, and the pain mixes with pleasure in a way I’m not prepared for. My hips shift against hers before I can stop them, just once, a single roll of pressure that drags a gasp from both of us.
I go still. My jaw locks.
Then three sharp knocks sound on the door. “Paper inspection.”
She freezes beneath me. I ignore them, and keep my mouth on her breast, my hand on the other, and my body covering hers. With a thought, I ensure the bolt has slid away, so the door is unlocked. It opens seconds later.
“Oh!”
The sound is strangled, choked off. I lift my head slowly, deliberately letting her nipple pull from between my teeth. Letting them see exactly what they’ve interrupted.
Their eyes move over her flushed face, her swollen lips, her breasts wet from my mouth. Then to me—the fae pet between his mistress’s thighs, caught in the middle of his duties.
I keep my expression docile. The collar wrapping my throat may be a glamour, but the mask is real. I’ve worn it so long it fits better than my own face. They will never be able to tell that I want to tear their throats out. For making me kneel. For looking at me and seeing nothing more than a thing to be used or killed.
The female beneath me makes a strangled sound, and her hands fly to her breasts, trying to cover herself. I shift my body to block their view. The protective pet, shielding his mistress from prying eyes.
“Our apologies …” One of the guards is backing out of the doorway, his face crimson with embarrassment. “Didn’t realize … we’ll just … I’m so sorry, my lady.”
The door closes, and boots retreat down the hallway, followed by low, mortified voices. The stairs creak under their weight as they flee. Then silence wraps the room.
I’m still braced above her, my hands on either side of her head, my hips between her thighs. Her breasts are flushed and marked by my mouth. Her nipples are hard and wet. She’s staring up at me, eyes wide, bright with tears and shame, horror, and confusion.
But underneath all that …
There’s heat. She’s aroused. I can see it in the flush spreading down her neck. I can feel it in the slight tremors running through her. Her body hasn’t caught up to her mind yet. It’s still humming with sensation, wanting more.
Then her face crumples, and fresh tears spill down her cheeks.
I should move, get off her, and give her space to cover herself and pretend this never happened.
I don’t.
Instead, I look down at her, this woman who planned to hunt and kill me, who’s now lying half-naked beneath me with my marks on her skin.
She moaned for me. Arched for me. Dug her nails into my back because she wanted more.
And I can still taste her on my lips.
There’s heat in my blood that shouldn’t be there. When she cried out, when her body moved against mine, Ifeltit. I responded to it.
Responded toher.
It doesn’t mean anything. My body is simply doing what it was forced to do for centuries.
I shove myself away from her, grabbing my shirt and dragging it on, my back to her. Behind me, there’s the rustle of fabric as she sits up and covers herself.
My hands are shaking. I clench my fingers into fists until the tremors stop.
This was necessary.Tactical. I’ve done worse things to survive.
But I’ve never done them while my body burned for more.
Behind me, her breathing is ragged, uneven, but she doesn’t speak … doesn’t scream at me … doesn’t demand answers for what I just did.
There’s just this loaded silence, the taste of her still on my tongue, and the fury coiled so tight in my chest I can barely breathe around it.
