A wave of emotion—this one pure revulsion—washed over Braze. The physical need was a fire in his veins, but the thought of that woman’s hands on him, of being used as a Court spectacle for her amusement… it was a violation that was fucking worse than death.
“Wait!”
His voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, cutting through the murmurs of the Court. Every eye snapped to him. Braze ignored them all. Locking eyes with Kaitlyn, he said,
“If anyone is going to fuck me, I want it to be my wife.”
Kaitlyn looked at him, her eyes wide with shock and uncertainty.
“Braze…are you sure about this?” she murmured.
He took a step toward her, the need making his movements slightly unsteady. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. Her warm, sweet, feminine scent was the only clean thing in this rotten room.
“The fucking tea,” he whispered, his words coming out ragged. “It did something to me. I… Gods, Kaitlyn, I fucking need to get fucked. I can’t explain it any better than that. It’s like… a pain—an emptiness—that won’t stop inside me. It hurts.” He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, letting her see the raw, humiliating truth of it. “But I want you to be the one to do it. Only you.”
She bit her lower lip, her gaze darting between his tortured expression and the sinister double-ended shaft.
“I… I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t want to hurt you.”
A dark fury, fiercer than the chemical need, surged inside Braze. He straightened, turning his head to glare at Aria, who had paused, the harness in her hands. His voice dropped to a lethal snarl, meant for Kaitlyn but loud enough for the Court to hear.
“Then I’m going to go down fighting. Because nobody else here is going to fuck me. If they try, I’ll fuck them up! I’ll tear this pretty room apart with my bare hands before I let anyone but you touch me, Mistress.”
It wasn’t a bluff. The primal part of his nature was rising in him, pushed by pain, humiliation, and a desperate, clawing need. Red tinged the edges of his vision. It wasn’t Rage exactly, but it was close. He was attuned to Kaitlyn—sworn to her service. He would kill or die before he’d let another woman touch him.
Braze saw in her eyes the moment she believed him—saw the resolve harden on her face, pushing past the fear. Kaitlyn gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
“All right,” she breathed. “But… I’ve never done this before.”
The admission, so vulnerable, touched something inside him.
“Just go slow,” he murmured, the gentleness in his voice a stark contrast to his previous snarl. “And let me help you put the harness on.”
“All right,” she nodded again, her voice firmer, though her eyes still looked uncertain.
Braze could see the war going on in her mind. Was this a terrible sacrifice he was asking her to make? Did he truly want this from her, or was he just sparing himself a worse violation at the hands of a stranger? Would he look at her tomorrow and see revulsion in his eyes when she remembered the way he’d submitted to being fucked in public?
He wanted to tell her—wanted to say that even in the middle of the shame and the chemical torment from the Love Vine tea, the idea of her taking him—of her being the one to ease this awful need—sparked a dark, forbidden thread of desire in his soul. He wanted to beg her not to hate him—not to think him weak. But there were no words. Not here. Not now.
She didn’t want to do this. He could feel her reluctance like a physical chill. But she had no choice. He wasn’t giving her one.
He just hoped she wouldn’t hate him after this was over.
And he prepared to help her into the harness, Braze knew one thing with absolute certainty—after this, nothing would ever be the same between them.
27
KAITLYN
Kaitlyn’s mind was a whirlwind of panic and a strange, humming static. They were really going to do this. In front of everyone in the Morning Court, she was going to fuck her Protector.
The polished wooden frame stood like a gallows in the center of the room. The stares of the Noblewomen and their leashed and caged husbands were physical weights on her skin. She could feel the cold, slick weight of the onyx toy in her hand, its purpose both alien and terrifyingly clear.
She didn’t know how they would get through it. She’d had fantasies of doing something like this with Braze—dark, secret little thoughts in the dead of night about power and control, sparked by his obvious devotion. But those were private…safe. This was a grotesque parody—a public spectacle orchestrated by a cruel Empress who cared for nothing but her own power and pleasure.
A public humiliation for the proud, strong warrior who had protected her so faithfully…and she, Kaitlyn was going to be the one humiliating him.
But looking at Braze—at the tense set of his jaw, and the widened pupils that spoke of the fire of need raging inside him—she knew there was no other path. She couldn’t let him fight—he’d tear the palace apart, and they’d kill him. Better he should hate her for violating him in public than for her Protector to die because of her unwillingness to rise to the occasion.
